THE  LIFE  OF  A  BEE. 


WALTER  F.MCCAL 


UC-NI 


SWVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNW 
DAVIS 


AS  IT  LOOKED  TO  HAPPY  FROM  THE  KNOL 


MBY 

Tig  LIFE  OF  A  DEE 


WALTER  FIAVIUS  M£(ALEB 


and  Decorations 

Jst 

CLEMENT  5.  DAVIS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


HAPPY:    THE  LIFE  OF  A  BEE 

Copyright,  1917,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
Published  April,  1917 

D-R 


CHAP.  PAGE 

FOREWORD 9 

I.  THE  AWAKENING 15 

II.  THE  CELL-HOUSE .     ,  20 

III.  MYSTERIES •  .     ,  24 

IV.  THE  FIRST  FLIGHT 28 

V.  ROBBERY 34 

VI.  CRIP 40 

VII.  CRIP,  THE  WISE 45 

VIII.  A  GLEANER  OF  HONEY 50 

IX.  A  STORM 56 

X.  THE  AFTERMATH 60 

XI.  THE  FIGHT  WITH  THE  WEB-WORMS        ....  65 

XII.  THE  WOUNDING  OF  CRIP 72 

XIII.  THE  SWARMING  FEVER 77 

XIV.  PERILS 86 

XV.  A  MIDNIGHT  ADVENTURE 95 

XVI.  TIDINGS  OF  WOE .     .  101 

XVII.  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  QUEEN 106 

XVIII.  CRIP  AND  THE  IMPOSTOR 112 

XIX.  FAREWELL  116 


EARS  ago,  banished  into  the  far  Rio 
Grande  region,  I  became  a  keeper  of 
bees.  As  a  child  I  had  loved  them, 
even  caressed  them,  and  many  a  time 
have  I  held  them  one  and  a  hundred  at  once  in  my 
hands.  I  knew  their  every  mind  and  their  wilful 
ways;  I  loved  their  sweet  contrarieties,  their  happy 
acceptation  of  the  inevitable,  and  their  joyous  facing 
of  life. 

So  it  came  about  that,  grown  older,  I  returned  to 
my  old  engagements,  and,  far  from  human  habitation, 
amid  the  wild,  brush-set  wilderness  enveloping  Lake 
Espantoso,  I  built  my  house  and  brought  my  bees. 
And,  too,  there  came  with  me  a  little  Shadow,  and 
at  his  heels  a  shepherd-dog.  There,  in  that  land 
of  boundless  spaces,  we  waited  and  watched  and 
dreamed. 

The  years  went  by  silently,  uneventfully — day  fol- 
lowing day  noiselessly,  as  sounds  die  in  the  sea.  Spring 
came  with  its  bounty  of  flowers;  and  fast  on  the  trail 

9 


FOREWORD 

of  retreating  winter  they  leaped  forth  in  multitudes: 
daisy  and  phlox  and  poppy  and  bluebonnet  and  Indian 
feather  and  anemone  all  tossed  their  heads  and  flung 
their  beautiful  wings  into  the  sunlight.  The  earth 
was  sweet  with  the  wild,  fresh  sweetness  of  flowers. 
Even  the  cacti  and  the  brush  blossomed  like  roses  of 
Cashmere,  hiding  their  thorns  amid  a  profusion  of 
loveliness. 

Then  the  winter  came,  brief,  primordial  in  its 
changes.  The  brown  earth  and  the  brown-gray  sweep 
of  the  horizon,  stretching  inimitably  away,  wakened  in 
rueful  contrast  to  the  riot  of  the  vernal  months. 

Season  after  season  went  by  until,  indeed,  I  seemed 
but  a  ghost  fluttering  in  and  out  among  the  whirling 
days.  Overhead  a  sky  of  perennial  blue;  in  my  face 
the  winds  from  every  zone,  and  in  my  ears  the  som- 
nolent sounds  of  the  years  gone  to  dust.  I  was  over- 
whelmed by  the  impalpable  significance  of  the  pri- 
meval world — and  by  the  mysterious  unfoldings  of 
life. 

Hours  at  a  time  I  sat  amid  my  little  brothers,  the 
bees,  now  and  again  catching  up  the  harmonies  of  their 
existence  and  marveling  much  at  the  divine  rhythm 
of  their  speech.  The  longer  I  sat  and  brooded  the 
more  I  grew  into  their  lives,  until  I  seemed  to  know 
their  every  mood  and  to  sound  the  mysteries  of  their 
being. 

They  seemed  to  know  me  and  to  love  me.  Often 
in  their  flight,  tired  and  overladen,  they  would  rest 
for  a  moment  on  my  sleeve,  and  then  away.  Many  a 
one  did  I  raise  from  the  earth  where  he  had  fallen — 
all  too  like  our  fellow-mortals — weighted  down  by  bur- 

10 


FOREWORD 

dens  too  heavy  to  bear.  And  how  happy  I  was  to 
see  them,  with  ever  so  little  help,  again  take  wing  and 
fly  heartened  to  their  homes.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that,  after  all,  men  are  but  bees  in  their  ulti- 
mate essence. 

Thus,  with  the  passing  years,  I,  a  keeper  of  bees, 
came  to  be  one  of  them;  and  even  now,  though  far 
distant,  I  wander  in  dreams  through  the  open  aisles 
about  which  their  white  houses  cluster,  and  through 
that  sweet  rose-garden. 

My  cottage  was  framed  in  roses.  Clambering 
Mareschal  Neills,  yellow  as  the  sun;  and  Augusta 
Victorias,  white  as  the  snows  of  dead  winters,  leaned 
upon  the  walls;  and  all  about  varieties  innumerable 
and  known  only  to  my  mother,  lifted  their  heads  and 
prayed  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  law. 

One  rose  there  was  of  all  roses  the  most  beautiful. 
She  called  it  the  Queen  of  the  Prairie.  Red  it  was  as 
the  blood  of  the  martyrs;  and,  huge  as  a  lotus  leaf,  it 
blew  the  most  wonderful  of  flowers.  Here  was  my 
special  pride.  I  loved  it  because  of  her  hands;  I 
loved  it  because  it  aspired  toward  perfection. 

Early  in  a  morning  now  gone — a  gorgeous  spring 
dawning — I  rose  and  went  into  the  garden,  as  was  my 
wont.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen,  and  there  was  in 
the  air  a  brooding,  a  sound  of  far-away  symphonies. 
From  rose  to  rose  I  turned,  until  presently  I  came  to 
the  most  marvelous  of  them  all.  Wonderful  beyond 
words,  I  drew  it  to  me — a  Queen  of  the  Prairie.  I 
breathed  its  fragrance,  thrilled  at  its  beauty,  when, 
with  a  start,  I  saw  deep  within  the  folds  of  its  heart  a 
little  bee,  drowsing  in  sleep.  I  could  but  gaze  and 

ii 


FOREWORD 

wonder,  arid  while  I  gazed  one  leg  quivered  a  moment 
and  then  was  still. 

It  is  the  story  of  his  life  that  I  would  tell. 

I  plucked  the  rose  and  bore  it  away  with  me;  and 
even  now,  as  I  write,  its  crumbled  leaves  lie  over  him 
in  a  memorial  urn ;  and  I  shall  be  happy  if  I  have  truly 
caught  the  meaning  of  his  life,  which  carried  with  it  so 
much  of  the  sweetness  of  endeavor,  so  much  of  the  joy 
of  living,  and  so  much  of  love  for  the  Kingdom  of 
Light. 

BEECHHURST,  LONG  ISLAND, 
March,  1917. 


HAPPY 

THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 


HAPTER,  ONE 
The  Awakenin 


Y  name  is  "Happy" — at 

least  that  is  what  the  bees 

have  always  called  me;  and  well  I  re- 
member the  first  time  I  heard  the  word.  I  suppose  I 
was  joyfully  flapping  my  wings  at  having  emerged, 
white  and  feeble,  but  a  living  being,  from  the  dark- 
ness of  my  cell,  when  I  heard  a  queer,  thin  voice 
saying:  "He1  isn't  a  minute  old,  and  yet  what  a  fuss 
he's  making  with  his  wings !  Let's  call  him  '  Happy ' !" 
All  around  I  could  hear  little  noises  of  approval; 
any  number  of  strange  faces  came  hurrying  to  look 
me  over;  two  or  three  actually  jostled  me,  and  one 
even  drew  his  tongue  across  my  face — and  for  the 
first  time  I  tasted  honey.  I  found  out  afterward  that 

1  It  is  well  known  that  all  worker  bees  are  females.  But  I  have 
changed  Happy  to  the  other  sex.  Here  I  have  taken  a  liberty, 
warranted,  I  think,  under  the  circumstances. — THE  AUTHOR. 

15 


HAPPY 

this  was  the  customary  salutation  to  all  newly-born 
bees.  Of  course  I  was  too  young  to  appreciate  all 
they  said  and  did,  and  I  soon  forgot  the  jubilation,  for 
I  happened,  in  my  wanderings,  upon  a  cell  brimming 
with  honey,  and,  without  asking  permission,  I  ate  and 
ate  until  I  could  not  hold  another  mouthful. 

Then  a  strange  drowsiness  seized  me,  and  I  scarcely 
knew  which  way  to  turn.  But  I  fell  in  with  what  I 
afterward  learned  were  nurse  bees,  and  they  took  me 
in  charge.  Presently,  hanging  fast  to  the  comb  with 
my  half-a-dozen  legs,  I  fell  asleep. 

Wonderful  things  had  happened  in  a  very  few 
minutes.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  began  to  drowse  and 
the  light  to  fade,  that  once  more  I  was  falling  asleep 
in  my  cell,  whence  I  had  so  shortly  emerged.  The 
something  that  had  awakened  within  me,  that  had 
caused  me  to  turn  round  and  round  in  my  cell,  and 
that  had  cried  gently  in  my  ear,  "See  the  light — cut 
your  way  through  the  door  and  live,"  sang  me  to  sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  for  a  moment  I  imagined  I  was 
still  in  my  cell.  I  thought  I  could  hear  my  neighbors, 
on  all  sides  of  me,  biting  at  the  wax  doors  that  closed 
them  in,  and  that  I  could  see  the  thin,  transparent 
shutters  giving  way  before  the  eager  heads  which  ap- 
peared in  the  doorways — tiny,  whitish-black  heads, 
with  huge  eyes  that  slowly  issued  from  the  dungeon- 
like  cells.  I,  too,  unconsciously  trying  my  mandibles, 
must  have  been  biting  on  the  combs  about  me,  for  pres- 
ently I  was  stopped  by  an  important-looking  bee  that 
cried,  sharply,  "What  are  you  about,  youngster?" 

He  was  rough  to  me,  but  I  had  learned  that  one 
must  not  bite  the  combs  just  for  the  pleasure  of  biting; 

16 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

it  began  to  dawn  on  me  that  it  cost  infinite  labor  to 
build  the  thousands  of  little  six-sided  houses  which, 
laid  side  by  side,  made  up  the  combs  of  our  hive. 
And  almost  before  I  knew  it,  I  came  to  have  vast 
respect  for  all  the  things  I  could  see  about  me,  for  the 
things  I  felt  lay  out  there  in  the  unexplored  depths  of 
our  home,  and  for  the  things  which  existed  only  in 
the  consciousness  of  the  colony. 

I  was  still  so  young  I  walked  but  feebly;  but  every- 
where I  was  greeted  as  a  brother.  Some  of  the  little 
fellows  climbed  over  me  in  their  hurry;  some  of  them, 
hustling  about  me,  almost  knocked  me  from  the 
combs ;  and  one  actually  stopped  me,  mumbling  some- 
thing I  could  not  understand;  but  his  meaning  was 
soon  made  clear.  I  suppose  he  said: 

"  I  see  you  are  a  novice;  you  have  on  your  swaddling- 
clothes.  This  will  never  do.  I  must  clean  you  up. " 

Whereat  he  proceeded,  in  spite  of  my  protest,  to  lick 
me  all  over  and  to  rub  my  legs  and  body,  saying, 
"This  white  powder  must  come  off;  you  can't  stand 
here  looking  like  that;  you  must  get  busy  and  be  a 
real  bee!" 

When  he  had  finished  with  me  I  found  that  I  was  no 
longer  so  wobbly,  that  my  wings  moved  more  freely, 
and,  to  my  astonishment,  a  smart  little  bee  came  up 
to  me  and  said: 

"I  note  that  you  are  changed;  you  are  no  longer 
grayish-white,  but  look  like  everybody  else;  your  eyes 
are  gray-black,  a  little  delicate  fuzz  is  in  the  middle 
of  your  back,  and  beautiful  alternating  black  and  gold 
bands  make  up  the  rest  of  your  body.  You  look  like  a 
real  somebody." 

17 


HAPPY 

Then  he  hurried  on,  and  I  heard  him  make  the  same 
speech  to  another  bee. 

Still  heeding  the  small  voice,  I  had  gone  but  a  little 
way  on  my  round  of  exploration  when  I  plumped  into 
the  biggest  bee!  He  was  in  such  a  hurry  he  nearly 
ran  me  down.  As  he  passed  I  saw  on  his  two  rearmost 
legs  great  balls  of  yellow-looking  stuff. 

"Out  of  the  way!"  he  called.  "The  bread-man! 
The  bread-man!" 

Every  one  seemed  to  have  understood  except  me, 
and  even  I,  a  moment  later,  heard  the  cry  and  gave 
way  to  a  newly-arrived  bread-man.  Just  what  character 
of  bee  he  was  I  had  yet  to  learn,  and  little  did  I  then 
dream  that  I,  too,  should  one  day  be  a  bread-man, 
carrying  great  baskets  of  bread  on  my  legs. 

By  this  time  I  was  again  hungry,  and  presently,  as 
I  traversed  a  white  strip  of  comb,  I  came  upon  a  great 
store — cell  after  cell,  like  a  thousand  open  pots,  full  to 
overflowing  with  honey.  I  was  on  the  point  of  helping 
myself  when  I  was  turned  away. 

"This  is  not  to  be  eaten,"  a  worker  said.  "We  are 
ripening  it  and  soon  it  will  be  sealed  for  the  winter. 
On  over  there  you  will  find  some." 

He  was  busy  and  gave  no  further  heed  to  me,  but 
as  I  turned  away  I  noticed  fully  a  hundred  bees  stand- 
ing ever  so  still — fanning,  fanning  with  their  wings 
the  open  cells  to  hasten  the  ripening  processes.  He 
left  unanswered  my  wish  to  know  what  the  ripening 
of  honey  meant — and  the  winter. 

As  indicated  by  the  worker,  I  soon  found  plenty  of 
honey  and  quite  gorged  myself.  This  time  I  took  away 
with  me  a  supply  in  my  honey-sac.  Again  I  felt  sleepy, 

18 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

and  started  back  to  my  cell.  Finally  I  reached  it. 
I  was  dumfounded  to  find  that  it  had  been  over- 
hauled and  that  the  bread-men  had  filled  it  with 
shining  yellow  loaves.  Wondering,  I  fell  asleep  hanging 
between  the  combs.  The  last  sound  that  I  heard  had 
been  a  long,  low  murmur,  which  afterward  I  came 
to  know  to  be  the.  voice  of  my  hive  singing  an  imme- 
morial hymn,  a  hymn,  I  have  been  told,  the  bees  have 
sung  for  a  hundred  times  a  thousand  years. 


CHAPTER,   TWO 

Tl\0  Cell  floucse 


OW  long  I  slept  I  cannot  say, 
but  I  was  awakened  by  a  sharp 
blow  which  nearly  knocked  me 
from  the  combs.  So  nearly  was 
I  toppled  over  that  I  seized  the  first  thing  my  feet  fell 
upon.     I    felt  immediately,  by  the  way  I  was  being 
dragged  about,  that  I  had  grappled  something  dan- 
gerous;  and   imagine   my   consternation  when  I  suc- 
ceeded in  opening  my  eyes !     I  was  holding  fast  to  the 
biggest  bee  that  ever  lived.     Many  of  the  same  kind  I 
have  seen  since  that  awakening,  but  none  ever  looked 
so  terrible.     When  I  had  managed  to  loose  my  hold 
on  this  monster  and  stood  fairly  on  the  combs,  I  asked 
the  nearest  bee: 
"Who  is  that?" 
"Nobody;    he  is  just  a  drone." 
"Please,  then,  what  are  drones?"  for  I  had  developed 
a  wholesome  respect  for  one  of  them. 

"A  drone  is  a  great,  worthless  bee  that  won't  work. 
20 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

They  stand  around  the  hive  until  the  time  comes  for 
them  to  die.  He  is  nearly  the  last.  For  almost  a 
month  we  have  been  driving  them  away,  and  when 
they  won't  go  sometimes  we  sting  them.  You  see, 
they  never  work  and  are  useless.  Of  an  afternoon 
they  fly  up  into  the  sky  with  a  deal  of  buzzing.  Some- 
times they  follow  the  Queen  into  the  deep  of  heaven. 
If  they  would  stop  there!  But  worse  than  that,  they 
bluster  about  over  the  hive  and  eat  a  lot  of  honey. 
Besides,  they  get  in  the  way  and  are  just  a  nuisance.'* 

I  was  listening  very  intently  to  this  speech,  when 
the  very  same  drone  that  had  collided  with  me  came 
tearing  past  me  with  two  mad  workers  clinging  to  his 
wings. 

" Poor  fellow,"  I  cried,  "are  they  driving  you  away?" 

He  headed  straight  for  me,  as  though  a  friend  had 
come  to  his  rescue,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  began 
to  fall  and  fall,  until  I  landed  plump  on  the  bottom- 
board  of  the  hive. 

In  all  my  life  I  never  fell  quite  so  far  again,  al- 
though once  I  was  high  in  the  air  with  a  great  load  of 
honey  when  a  whirlwind  caught  me  and  hurled  me 
to  the  earth.  You  see,  I  then  knew  nothing  of  distance. 

I  got  up  on  my  legs  as  quickly  as  I  could  and  stag- 
gered about  a  bit,  trying  to  get  my  bearings.  Now,  in- 
deed, I  had  gone  a  long  way  from  the  tiny  cell-house 
where  I  was  born;  but  strangely  enough,  I  knew  the 
way  back  to  it  without  even  thinking.  I  had,  up  to 
that  time,  moved  but  a  few  inches  away  from  it,  but 
suddenly  the  world  seemed  to  have  yawned  and  swal- 
lowed me  up.  However,  I  quickly  regained  my  com- 
posure, for  around  me  bees  were  running,  humming 

2i 


HAPPY 

strange  words  as  they  went ;  and  over  me  I  could  hear 
the  croon  of  the  nurse  bees  and  other  sounds  which 
were  still  foreign  and  mysterious. 

Without  even  thinking  of  the  direction  I  took,  I 
started  on  the  way  back  to  my  cell.  Crawling  along 
the  bottom-board  until  I  reached  the  side  of  the  hive, 
I  climbed  up  it  until  I  came  to  a  bridge  of  comb  stretch- 
ing to  a  frame,  and  a  moment  later  I  was  crossing  from 
comb  to  comb,  and,  ere  long,  to  my  great  joy,  stood 
on  the  spot  whence  I  had  started.  In  my  passage 
I  had  met  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  my  brothers, 
none  of  whom  seemed  glad  to  see  me,  although  I  thought 
a  few  stopped  to  watch  me  stumbling  along  on  my  way. 
However,  I  now  know  that  not  one  actually  paused 
from  his  work.  The  world  they  live  in  is  too  full  of 
duties  and  the  dark  days  of  winter  are  always  too 
close  at  hand,  while  eternally  is  sounding  in  their  ears 
the  refrain,  "Work,  work,  for  the  frost  is  coming. " 

I  went  round  and  round  the  cell  which  had  been  my 
house.  I  couldn't  make  out  why  I  did  this,  because  I 
was  absolutely  sure  of  my  location.  Still,  to  make 
doubly  sure,  I  even  thrust  my  head  into  the  doorway 
and  scented  the  bread  with  which  it  had  been  filled. 
There  still  remained  about  it  a  curious  odor,  which  I 
never  forgot,  and  at  this  late  day,  with  my  eyes  closed, 
I  could  find  my  cell — perhaps  not  by  the  smell,  but 
through  the  same  divining  sense  that  has  led  me  across 
ten  thousand  fields  and  streams  and  hills  to  my  home 
again.  I  found,  however,  that  I  had  been  a  little 
bruised  by  my  fall.  The  foremost  leg  on  my  right  side 
was  hurting  me.  It  had  probably  been  sprained  when 
I  struck  the  bottom-board.  I  began  to  claw  at  it,  when 

22 


THE   LIFE  OF  A   BEE 

a  bee  interrupted  who  seemed  to  understand  what 
troubled  me.  Forthwith  he  laid  hold  of  the  lame  leg 
and  pulled  and  pushed  it  unceremoniously,  and  pres- 
ently, without  a  word,  went  on  his  way.  I  found  im- 
mediately that  it  gave  me  no  further  pain,  and  I  was 
engaged  in  licking  my  other  legs  when  I  seemed  sud- 
denly to  grow  sleepy  and  in  a  trice  I  planted  myself  on 
a  comb  and  prepared  to  sleep. 

If  I  really  slumbered,  it  could  not  have  been  long, 
for  when  I  began  to  drowse  a  bread-man  was  busy 
taking  the  yellow  pollen  from  the  baskets  on  his  hind- 
most legs,  and  when  I  wakened  he  was  just  drawing 
himself  out  of  the  cell  where  he  had  stored  it  away. 
In  fact,  I  saw  him  at  the  moment  packing  it  down. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  I  asked,  sleepily. 

"Can't  you  see?"  he  answered. 

Then  it  all  dawned  on  me.  It  was  interesting  to 
watch  him  draw  himself  out  and  thrust  himself  in, 
head-on,  battering  down  the  loaves  of  bread. 

"Why  does  he  do  that?"  I  ventured,  of  a  bee  that 
seemed  to  be  loitering. 

"In  order  that  he  may  store  a  great  deal  in  the  cell, 
so  that  it  will  keep  through  the  cold,  wet  months  when 
there  are  no  flowers.  Bread  comes  from  flowers,  you 
know." 

"Flowers!  What  are  flowers?"  I  cried.  "And 
bread?" 

"You  shall  learn  for  yourself,"  he  answered,  pa- 
tiently, turning  away. 


CHAPTER^  JTHREB 

' 


THOUGHT  he  might  have  an- 
swered my  questions,  but,  with- 
out knowing  why,  I  started  off  on 

an  excursion,  and  surprised  myself  at  feeling  so  much 
stronger.  At  least  I  could  scamper  along  without 
swaying  and  staggering  and  clutching  at  every  bee  and 
thing  I  met.  I  began  to  feel  brave  and  big. 

As  I  went  forward  I  encountered  a  stream  of  workers. 
They  were  humming  a  home-coming  song  as  they 
hurried  up  the  combs  to  deposit  their  loads  of  honey.  I 
overheard  some  of  them  saying  that  the  dark  had 
dropped  on  them  suddenly  out  of  a  cloud  and  that 

24 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

rain  had  begun  to  fall.  I  could  not  then  understand 
what  terrors  were  couched  in  these  words — rain  and 
darkness — else  I  might  better  have  appreciated  the 
thanksgiving  hymn  which  these  late-returning,  rain- 
draggled  workers  were  uttering.  In  days  to  come  I 
was  to  learn  what  danger  meant,  for  more  than  once 
I,  too,  was  forced  to  flee  before  a  storm  in  the  growing 
blackness,  bearing  a  load  almost  too  much  for  my 
wings;  and  to  spend  a  night  in  the  woods,  hiding  as 
best  I  might  under  a  leaf,  and  quaking  at  the  nameless 
fears  that  beat  about  me  in  the  gloom.  There  was  no 
comfort  even  in  the  tiny  lights  that  glowed  over  my 
head,  nor  in  the  small  voices  that  called  to  me  in  the 
night.  It  was  not  fear  that  I  should  be  lost  that  op- 
pressed me,  but  that  the  load  I  had  gathered  with  so 
much  travail  should  never  reach  the  storehouse  upon 
which  the  life  of  the  colony  depended,  for  food  was 
necessary  to  life.  And  life?  I  knew  naught  of  it.  But 
was  it  consciousness  of  imperative  duty  that  made  me 
shake  in  every  passing  wind?  Even  to  this  day  my  own 
life  has  given  me  no  concern.  I  scarcely  know  that  I 
have  any  interest  in  living,  apart  from  serving,  apart 
from  the  lives  of  these,  my  little  brothers. 

I  noticed  as  I  moved  onward  that  the  workers 
brought  home  no  pollen.  Their  baskets  were  empty. 
I  thought  this  strange  and  inquired  about  it,  learning 
that  the  flowers  yield  pollen  more  freely  in  the  morning; 
that  the  sun,  wind,  and  insects  tend  to  dissipate  it,  and 
that,  therefore,  bread  was  largely  gathered  in  the  early 
hours.  I  also  learned  that  as  a  food  it  was  far  less 
important  than  honey;  and  that  honey,  too,  was  more 
abundant  when  the  day  was  young.  I  knew  that  the 

2S 


HAPPY 

incoming  hordes  were  now  laden  with  honey,  and 
instinctively  where  it  was  carried,  for  my  own  sac  was 
still  stuffed  nearly  to  bursting. 

On  I  went  without  thinking,  at  each  turn  facing 
laden  and  singing  workers.  It  never  occurred  to  me 
that  my  progress  would  eventually  lead  me  to  the 
door  of  the  hive,  which  was  the  boundary  between  my 
home  and  the  wide  universe  that  spread  away  to  the 
stars.  Many  things  there  were  that  stopped  me  on  the 
way.  The  last  laden  workers  had  passed,  and  I  found 
myself  still  wandering  on.  The  night  song  of  the  hive 
was  already  submerging  the  hymn  of  the  late-arriving 
workers;  but  the  two  were  strangely  commingling,  the 
one  flowing  into  the  other,  even  as  the  shades  of  twilight 
merge  with  the  dark. 

A  mysterious  feeling  was  creeping  over  me.  I  felt  as 
though  something  imponderable  was  pressing  upon  me. 
Suddenly  a  whiff  of  air  dashed  in  my  face  and  I  stopped, 
stricken  with  an  indefinable  fear.  Then,  the  reassuring 
'  note  of  the  guards  at  the  door  brought  again  my  cour- 
age, and  boldly  I  walked  out  into  the  night. 

Several  of  the  guards  ran  up  to  me,  smelling  me 
strangely,  then  let  me  pass.  I  must  have  been  wander- 
ing as  in  a  trance;  all  around  me  the  night  lay  black 
and  the  soft  wind  shook  my  wings,  and  the  little  stars 
seemed  hanging  just  over  my  head.  I  was  seized  with 
a  wild  desire  to  try  my  wings,  to  fly  into  the  beckoning 
unknown.  But  my  wings  could  not  lift  me,  and 
happily  one  of  the  guards,  seeing  me  approach  too  near 
the  edge  of  the  alighting-board,  cautioned  me  and 
suggested  my  going  back  into  the  hive. 

As  I  turned  in  I  cast  one  long  look  back  into  the 
26 


THE   LIFE   OF   A   BEE 

great  black  space  that  lay  outside,  and  wondered  and 
wondered.  Overhead  the  sprinkled  lights,  like  flowers 
in  the  gardens  of  heaven,  leaned  a  little  wistfully  toward 
the  earth;  and  near,  ever  so  near  it  seemed,  a  wonder- 
fully bright  light  shone,  calling  me  to  fly  into  its  embrace. 

"What  is  that?"  I  asked  of  the  gentle  guard. 

"The  Master's  lamp,"  he  said. 

The  Master's  lamp!  What  might  that  be?  But  I 
asked  no  more  questions.  There  was  too  much  of 
mystery  around  me.  I  clambered  over  the  combs  as 
rapidly  as  I  might,  back  to  my  cell;  but  even  there  it 
was  a  long  time  before  I  slept,  so  spellbound  was  I,  so 
stirred  to  the  depths.  Vast  harmonies  seemed  athrob 
in  the  outer  world,  and  one  dim  undercurrent  of  tone, 
the  night  song  of  my  hive,  ebbed  and  flowed  ceaselessly 
around  me.  Gradually  I  seemed  to  lose  my  identity 
and  to  merge  with  the  spirit  of  the  things  about  me. 

In  a  flash  I  felt  that  I  was  no  longer  just  a  helpless 
little  bee,  floating  about  in  the  maze  of  life,  intent  on 
my  own  purposes,  bound  no  whither,  owning  no  duties 
and  driven  by  no  destinies.  Up  to  the  moment  I  had 
given  no  concern  to  things  beyond  dipping  into  honey- 
cells  for  food,  to  exploring  the  house  in  which  I  found 
myself,  to  groping  about  with  eyes  wide  and  ears  that 
missed  no  sound.  But  now  I  had  been  shaken  with 
new  desires.  I  seemed  to  have  climbed  out  of  myself, 
even  as  I  had  crawled  out  of  my  cell  on  that  other  day, 
now  but  a  memory — so  far  away  it  seemed.  My 
thoughts,  my  activities,  my  soul  were  no  longer  my 
own — they  belonged  to  my  little  brothers  buzzing  in 
the  alcoves  or  busy  with  endless  tasks  which  I  seemed 
to  know  without  knowing. 

27 


CHAPTER,  FOUR, 
Ttie  First  FliAErt 


Y  sleep  was  interrupted  by  I 
know  not  what  strange  dreams 
or  fantasies.  I  suppose  I  was 
shaking  my  wings  or  my  legs 
unduly,  when  a  kindly  nurse 
laid  her  hands  on  me. 

"What  troubles  you?"  she  asked. 
28 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

I  did  not  immediately  answer,  because  I  was  at  a 
loss  for  a  reply  and  seemed  still  to  be  clinging  to  the 
edge  of  things.  Such  wonderful  vistas  had  been  opened 
to  me,  I  suppose  I  acted  like  one  entranced. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  answered  at  last. 

" Wake  up  a  bit,  then." 

Again  I  seemed  quite  alone,  although  all  around  me 
hundreds  of  my  brothers  were  sleeping,  or  working  at 
their  manifold  tasks. 

It  was  still  very  dark,  but  I  began  to  move  about 
drowsily,  giving  no  heed  to  the  way.  From  comb  to 
comb  I  clambered,  passing  over  unexplored  regions. 
Presently  I  came  to  what  was  clearly  the  outermost 
comb.  I  saw  a  lot  of  workers  tugging  and  pulling  at 
the  cells.  I  stopped  and  watched  them.  Each  cell 
had  its  bee  or  bees  busily  engaged  upon  it.  They 
would  seize  the  sides  of  it  with  their  sharp  mandibles, 
and,  by  dint  of  biting  and  drawing,  extend  it  little  by 
little.  I  could  see  that  it  was  a  laborious  process,  this 
building  of  comb.  I  was  standing  quite  still,  looking 
on  and  meditating,  when,  without  ceremony,  one  of 
the  comb-builders  rushed  up  to  me  and  began  to  touch 
my  body,  then  left  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come.  In- 
stantly I  was  inclined  to  resent  this  treatment,  and 
called  to  him  as  he  turned: 

"What  is  all  this  about?" 

He  did  not  stop  to  answer,  and  I  was  left  to  discover 
that  he  had  mistaken  me  for  a  comb-grower.  Just  what 
that  meant  I  was  soon  brought  to  understand. 

Hours  passed  and  still  I  hung  around  the  comb- 
builders,  until  I  felt  that  I  had  mastered  the  secret  of 
the  art.  Then  slowly  I  turned  and  made  my  way 

3  =9 


HAPPY 

back  to  my  home  cell,  tired,  but  greatly  pleased  with 
my  experiences. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  slept,  for  with  startling  sud- 
denness it  dawned  on  me  that  the  night  had  passed. 
The  faintest  light  was  coming  into  our  hive,  and  over 
the  whole  colony  there  was  ringing  the  early  summons 
to  the  field.  The  cry  caught  me  and  unconsciously 
I  moved  forward  with  the  workers,  a  solid  stream  of 
them  making  way  to  the  entrance.  I,  too,  passed  out, 
and  once  more — now  the  full  dawn  upon  me — stopped 
upon  the  alighting-board  and  flapped  my  wings,  essay- 
ing flight,  only  to  find  that  I  could  not  lift  myself. 

I  was  distressed  and  sick  at  heart.  I  wanted  to  go — 
I  knew  not  where;  but  instead,  there  I  was,  an  obstruc- 
tion; and  I  could  not  immediately  re-enter  the  hive 
on  account  of  the  outward  press  of  workers.  The 
growing  light,  and  then  the  sudden  burst  of  the  sun, 
quite  fascinated  me.  Besides  this,  the  flight  of  a  thou- 
sand of  my  brothers,  each  taking  the  note  of  the  field- 
worker  when  about  to  embark,  filled  me  with  longing 
to  go  into  the  wide  world  that  spread  around  and  that 
called  me  with  infinitely  tender  phrases. 

I  suppose  I  was  acting  strangely,  as  well  as  blockading 
the  entrance,  when  one  of  the  guards  mildly  remon- 
strated with  me  and  suggested  my  re-entering  the  hive. 
By  this  time  practically  all  the  veteran  honey-gatherers 
had  gone,  and  indeed  those  first  out  were  beginning 
to  return,  chanting  the  song  that  tells  of  a  successful 
foray  into  the  fields.  So,  following  the  mandate  of  the 
guard,  I  seized  the  opportunity  of  falling  in  the  wake 
of  a  laden  bee.  Instinctively  I  followed  him. 

He  rushed  along  like  mad,  darting  into  the  hive, 
30 


THE   LIFE   OF   A   BEE 

and  then  over  the  bottom-board  to  a  point  where  a 
bridge  of  wax  stretched  downward  within  his  reach. 
Up  it  he  scampered,  with  me  at  his  heels,  until  he  came 
to  the  very  spot  where  the  workers  had  been  building 
cells  the  night  before.  Finding  one  to  his  liking,  he 
buried  himself  in  it,  and  in  a  moment  had  emptied 
his  sac,  depositing  the  honey  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cell.  Before  I  could  turn  around  from  inspecting  what 
he  had  done  he  had  gone.  He  appeared  delighted  to 
think  he  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  return  with  a 
load,  and  as  he  went  out  I  heard  him  calling  aloud  to 
his  fellows  to  follow  him,  for  he  had  found  a  new  rich 
harvest  field. 

I  hurried  along  and  reached  the  alighting-board  in 
time  to  see  him  fly,  closely  pursued  by  half-a-dozen 
eager  workers.  I  rambled  about  on  the  alighting-board, 
constantly  buzzing  my  wings  for  I  knew  not  what  rea- 
son, when  I  overheard  one  say: 

"There's  that  Happy  again!" 

It  made  no  difference  to  me,  for  I  was  determined  to 
stay  to  watch  the  incoming  bees,  and  presently  the 
worker  I  had  followed  inside  returned  and,  at  the  brief- 
est intervals,  those  that  had  gone  with  him.  And  now 
a  real  sensation  was  astir.  These  half-a-dozen  all  began 
to  cry  aloud: 

"  Hurry — hurry — honey — honey. " 

In  the  briefest  space  a  multitude  was  flying  over  the 
field  to  I  knew  not  what  rich  storehouse.  Indeed, 
every  worker,  on  returning,  was  told  the  great  news,  and 
from  one  I  gathered  that  a  colony  was  being  robbed, 
that  something  tremendous  had  happened.  The  Queen 
had  died! 

31 


HAPPY 

I  knew  not  what  robbery  meant,  nor  had  I  ever 
heard  the  word  queen. 

"What  is  a  queen?"  I  asked. 

One  of  the  guards  stared  at  me  impatiently.  "You 
had  better  go  inside.'* 

I  refused  to  comply  with  the  suggestion;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  remained  where  I  was,  ever  and  anon  flapping 
my  wings,  and  presently  to  my  overpowering  joy  I  felt 
my  body  being  lifted  off  my  legs,  and  without  thinking 
I  rose  in  the  air!  It  was  a  wonderful  sensation.  I 
hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing,  but  back  and  forth  I 
flew  about  our  hive,  looking  and  looking  to  make  sure 
I  should  know  it  when  I  returned;  for  now,  indeed,  I 
felt  my  soul  bounding  within  me  and  that  the  wide 
world,  upon  which  I  had  yearningly  gazed,  was  about 
to  swallow  me  up.  Back  and  forth  I  flew,  ever  widening 
the  distance,  taking  into  view  other  white-faced  hives 
and  trees  and  houses,  until  presently,  in  a  long  spiral 
I  rose  into  the  heavens.  Up  and  up  I  went  toward  the 
sun,  glorying  in  the  power  of  wings  and  the  infinite 
grandeur  of  the  world  that  spread  out  below  me. 
How  far  away  it  seemed  and  how  cool  and  green  and 
inviting!  I  could  hear  around  me  strange  noises, 
mingled  with  the  whirring  of  wings.  The  note  of  my 
hive  now  and  again  faintly  broke  on  my  ears,  and  I 
knew  that  my  brothers  were  traveling  the  airy  spaces, 
working  ever  toward  a  goal  far  removed  from  thinking. 

I  did  not  feel  lonely  at  all,  but  after  a  time  I  decided 
to  return  to  my  house  to  make  sure  that  I  knew  the 
way.  You  would  be  surprised  to  know  how  straight  I 
came  back  to  it.  Down  and  down  I  dropped  into  the 
bee-yard,  and,  turning  right  and  left,  without  further 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

thought  I  landed  on  the  alighting-board.  Imme- 
diately a  guard  fell  upon  me,  but  passed  me  without 
question.  Then,  with  glee  bubbling  in  my  soul,  I  fled 
into  the  hive  and  set  up  such  a  buzzing  for  joy  as  I 
think  none  ever  surpassed. 


CHAPTER^HVt 


OW  that  I  had  taken  my  first  flight 
into  the  blue,  I  felt  at  last  that  the 
world  had  truly  opened  for  me,  and 
that  I  was  a  real  bee  with  duties 
and  responsibilities — and  without 
hesitation  I  accepted  them.  Rushing  around  in  un- 
controlled delight,  I  heard  again  the  laden  workers 
murmuring  about  the  great  stores  of  honey  they 
were  taking.  It  seemed,  from  what  I  could  gather, 
that  practically  all  the  workers  of  the  hive  were 
directing  their  course  to  this  new,  rich  field. 

I  was  listening  as  hard  as  ever  I  might  to  all  this 
converse,  when  an  important  bee  cried  out: 

34 


THE    LIFE    OF    A    BEE 

"Why  don't  you  get  to  work?" 

Up  to  that  moment  I  had  done  nothing  nor  had  I 
even  then  thought  of  it,  but  at  the  suggestion  I  made 
off,  following  to  the  entrance  and  then  into  the  air  a 
worker  bound  for  the  unknown  treasure-field.  I  got  off 
a  little  more  slowly  than  he,  but  to  my  surprise  I 
found  I  could  easily  outfly  him.  We  had  gone  but  a 
short  distance  when  he  began  to  descend,  and,  with 
no  ceremony,  landed  at  the  same  instant  on  the  alight- 
ing-board of  a  strange  hive  where  a  thousand  bees 
were  struggling.  I  discovered  immediately  that  many 
of  the  bees  around  were  strangers  to  me  and  that  all 
acted  like  mad — pushing,  pulling,  and  fighting.,  Some 
were  struggling  to  get  in  and  some  to  get  out.  I  saw 
at  once  that  those  outward  bound  were  heavily  laden 
with  honey,  and  that  they  had  to  fight  the  hungry  bees 
scrambling  for  a  taste  of  the  nectar.  I  collided  with  an 
old  fellow  heavily  loaded  and  was  about  to  attack  him, 
when  he  hurled  me  aside.  I  was  now  aflame  with  the 
passion  of  acquisition.  Honey  I  must  have,  even  if  it 
cost  my  life! 

I  scrambled  along  with  the  rest  to  get  in  and  finally 
succeeded.  But  there  the  trouble  began.  Whether 
it  was  because  I  looked  young  or  was  really  ignorant  of 
the  procedure,  the  first  thing  I  knew  a  bad-tempered, 
elderty  bee  attacked  me.  I  learned  long  afterward 
that  he  was  one  of  the  last  survivors  of  the  colony, 
fighting  to  the  end.  First,  he  seized  me  by  the  leg,  but 
I  kicked  him  off;  then,  undaunted,  he  got  me  by  the 
wing  in  such  a  way  that  I  could  not  shake  him,  and  the 
next  thing  I  knew  he  was  about  to  sting  me.  Other 
bees  were  rushing  pell-mell  over  us.  I  felt  the  tiniest 

35 


HAPPY 

prick  of  his  stinger,  and  then  with  a  supreme  effort  I 
escaped  his  clutches.  I  rushed  away  from  the  spot 
and  soon  came  upon  a  batch  of  honey  over  which  it 
appeared  ten  thousand  bees  were  quarreling  and  fight- 
ing. Without  thinking,  I  fell  into  the  scrimmage  and 
by  some  chance  finally  landed  on  a  half -filled  cell,  and 
into  it  I  plunged. 

Here  my  troubles  began  afresh.  Hundreds  of  bees 
piled  on  top  of  me  and  all  but  drowned  me  in  the 
honey  I  was  intent  on  possessing.  For  a  minute  my 
head  was  buried  in  it  and  I  began  to  strangle.  But 
by  a  mighty  effort  I  escaped. 

It  was  almost  as  difficult  to  get  out  of  the  hive  as  it 
was  in ;  and  on  my  return  journey  a  hungry,  malevolent 
bee  intercepted  me  and  demanded  that  I  divide  my 
load  with  him.  On  my  refusing  he  seized  me  by  a  wing 
and  jerked  me  so  violently  that  I  thought  he  had  all 
but  torn  it  off.  I  fought  him  from  the  start,  but,  he 
being  a  stalwart  and  I  heavily  laden,  he  thrashed  me 
almost  into  a  lifeless  state.  To  add  to  my  terrible 
mischance,  another  freebooter,  more  vicious  than  the 
first,  joined  against  me,  and  the  two  of  them  overcame 
me  quickly  and  robbed  me  of  my  load.  They  left  me 
half  senseless  and  I  was  only  too  glad  to  escape  with  my 
life. 

I  flew  as  straight  as  an  arrow  to  my  home,,  feeling 
outraged  and  exhausted.  After  all,  I  was  not  powerful 
— not  important.  I  was  crestfallen ;  but  I  did  not  even 
have  to  think  of  the  direction  or  the  location  of  my 
house,  and  you  may  be  assured  I  was  glad  to  return 
to  it,  if  only  to  make  sure  that  I  was  alive  and  knew 
the  road.  At  the  same  time  I  was  still  under  the 

36 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

impression  that  I  had  some  honey  in  my  sac.  Nobody 
had  taught  me  how  to  unload  it,  but  I  went  forward 
to  a  cell.  Imagine  how  downcast  I  was  to  find  that  not 
an  atom  of  honey  had  been  left  me!  I  was  infuriated; 
so  resolved  at  once  to  try  again.  Hurriedly  I  went 
to  the  place  for  another  load,  but  found  the  bees  had 
nearly  all  gone.  Once  inside,  I  discovered  that  not  a 
drop  of  honey  remained,  hence  the  reason  for  their 
leaving.  I  was  wandering  about  when  a  poor  crippled 
bee  approached.  Could  this  be  one  of  the  rascals  that 
robbed  me  and  who  had  suffered  a  worse  fate? 

"Won't  you  have  pity  on  me  and  let  me  go  home 
with  you?"  he  said,  sorrowfully.  "I'm  all  alone  in  the 
world." 

His  tone  and  request  cut  me  deeply;  he  was  clearly 
no  robber,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  broken-hearted  and 
had  but  five  legs — one  of  his  basket-legs  was  missing. 
And  how  wretched  he  looked! 

"Have  you  no  home?"  I  asked,  with  compassion. 

"This  was  my  home,  but  you  and  ten  thousand  like 
you  have  destroyed  it.  There  wasn't  much  left  of  it, 
though,  when  our  Queen-Mother  died." 

I  felt  guilty  as  a  thief  caught  red-handed.  Remorse 
was  at  my  throat. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "you  may  go  home  with  me.  But 
tell  me  about  your  Queen-Mother.  What  became  of 
her?" 

Then  he  began  a  fascinating  story  which  kept  me 
rooted  to  the  place,  desolate  as  it  was. 

"Well,  it  was  this  way:  One  sunny  afternoon,  a 
long  time  ago,  our  Queen-Mother  went  for  a  flight  into 
the  outer  world,  a  thing  she  did  but  rarely — and  never 

37 


HAPPY 

returned.  Have  you  ever  lived  in  a  house  without  a 
Queen-Mother?  You  do  not  understand,  then,  what 
a  terrible  thing  that  is." 

He  stopped  short  and  would  say  no  more. 

"Please  go  on!"  I  urged. 

"Some  day  I'll  tell  you  all  of  it.  It  is  a  long  story, 
but  for  us  the  end  was  in  sight.  In  the  large  economy 
of  the  universe  our  efforts  were  futile.  Better  for  us 
and  for  the  great  Life  of  the  Bee  that  the  honey  we  had 
gathered  should  be  conserved  by  strange  colonies,  and 
that  our  short  lives  should  be  yielded  up  or  dedicated 
to  strengthening  them,  than  that  it  should  be  left  rich 
booty  to  web-worms  and  mice.  So  it  came  to  pass, 
you  and  others  found  out  our  condition  and  sought  our 
stores,  as  it  has  been  written  you  should.  We  fought 
at  first,  half-heartedly — as  one  without  friends  or  kins- 
men or  home  will  fight.  You  saw  the  end  of  the  battle. 
It  is  over.  And  now  will  you  let  me  go  home  with  you  ? 
You  see  I  have  but  five  legs,  but  I  can  still  work  and 
help  do  the  things  that  remain  to  be  done." 

So  absorbing  had  been  his  story,  I  quite  forgot  my- 
self, and  while  I  answered,  "I'm  so  sorry  for  you,  and 
want  you  to  come,"  my  thoughts  were  far  away. 

The  things  he  had  told  me  out  of  his  life  and  out  of 
the  life  of  the  colony  had  gone  deep  in  my  breast. 
Turning  from  him,  I  looked  around  and,  lo !  the  hive  was 
silent  as  death.  Not  a  thing  of  life  remained  except 
this  poor,  miserable,  orphaned  bee.  Death  had  come, 
and  now  stood  guard  over  the  portal  of  the  little  home 
where  once  a  beautiful  spirit  had  brooded,  and  where 
some  of  the  laws  we  may  not  understand  had  come  to 
fulfilment.  .  .  . 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

"Come  with  me,"  I  said,  in  a  whisper. 

He  followed,  limping  but  uncomplaining. 

On  the  bottom-board  we  saw  a  number  of  dead  bees 
which  I  had  not  noticed  on  going  in,  I  had  been  in  such 
haste. 

"So  many  of  my  brothers  are  dead,"  he  murmured, 
"why  should  I  want  to  live?  Because  I  am  needed? 
You  think  I  am  needed?  You  think  I  am  commanded 
by  the  high  powers  to  give  my  energies  and  my  intel- 
ligence to  the  problems  that  confront  us  ?  Perhaps  that 
is  true,  and  I  shall  bide  by  the  call  and  give  my  life  to 
my  new  family." 

We  came  at  length  to  the  entrance;  I  noticed  that  he 
turned  and  looked  in  a  dazed  way  at  the  things  about 
him.  It  was  a  sad  farewell.  His  little  brothers  had 
gone.  His  tribe  had  perished.  He  should  see  his 
home  never  again. 

Then  I  rose  on  my  wings  and  he  followed  me  ever  so 
closely.  A  new  chapter  in  our  lives  had  opened. 


CARCELY  were  we  risen  in  the 
air  when  I  discovered  the  Master 
walking  near  my  home.  I  seemed 
to  know  instinctively  that  he  was 
our  Master.  Towering  into  the  air  and  walking  with 
such  majestic  tread,  he  filled  me  with  wonder  and  ad- 
miration. Nor  was  I  less  interested  in  the  Little  One 
that  ran  at  his  heels.  Stories  there  were  of  these  two, 
eddying  about  the  hive — of  their  kindness  and  also 
their  malevolence.  How  mighty  they  appeared!  I 

40 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

had  seen  them  but  once  before.    That  picture  was  still 
vivid. 

We  wfere  not  long  in  reaching  home.  Without  cere- 
mony I  lit  on  the  board  and  instantly  my  friend  was 
beside  me.  At  the  same  moment  a  guard  accosted 
him  and  seized  him,  recognizing  him  as  an  intruder. 
I  interfered,  but  almost  unavailingly,  for  the  guard  was 
about  to  sting  him.  The  two  of  us  escaped  this  guard 
only  to  be  attacked  by  another,  which  we  beat  off, 
and  hurriedly  entered  the  hive.  I  was  almost  certain 
that  yet  others  would  question  the  stranger,  and  sure 
enough,  we  had  barely  got  inside  before  another  guard 
summarily  attacked  him.  Poor  fellow,  with  only  five 
legs  and  tired  from  the  combats  of  the  day,  he  could 
make  but  a  poor  fight.  Again  I  rescued  him,  and  again 
we  raced  into  the  interior.  And  now,  happily,  our 
troubles  were  over.  Without  thinking,  I  made  straight 
for  my  cell,  with  "Crip,"  as  I  began  to  call  him,  at  my 
heels. 

He  seemed  to  realize  that  he  was  a  stranger  and 
that  he  owed  his  life  to  me,  for  he  clung  to  me  as  closely 
as  possible.  He  seemed  to  know,  too,  that  the  ground 
whereon  I  stood  was  sacred  to  me.  He  did  not  speak 
for  a  time,  nor  did  I.  We  simply  hung  limp  on  the 
comb,  and  rested.  He  broke  the  silence: 

"You  have  a  wonderful  colony,  I  can  see.  I  hope 
I  shall  grow  into  it  as  though  it  were  my  own.  Indeed, 
in  a  sense  it  is  my  own,  for  all  bees  are  sprung  from  the 
same  source,  and  the  life  of  the  bee  is  kept  alive  by  us, 
each  in  his  own  cell.  I  know  now  that  I  shall  grow 
into  it.  Listen  to  that  voice!  How  long  it  is  since  I 
heard  a  Queen-Mother  sing!" 

4* 


HAPPY 

I  roused  myself,  somewhat  confused.  "Queen- 
Mother!"  I  stammered. 

"Yes.    Won't  you  take  me  to  her?" 

I  hardly  knew  how  to  answer;  I  had  never  seen  her 
myself,  although  I  knew  from  Crip's  story  and  from 
some  unknown  source  that  there  was  somewhere  a 
reigning  spirit.  But  my  life  had  been  so  brief  and  I 
had  already  learned  so  many  things,  I  said,  as  lightly 
as  I  might,  "Let  us  go." 

He  seemed  to  know  the  way  to  her.  He  hobbled 
along  as  best  he  might  on  his  five  legs.  He  was  now  no 
longer  suspected  as  an  intruder,  and  we  marched  without 
interruption.  Presently  we  climbed  through  a  hole  in  a 
comb  and  came  face  to  face  with  our  Queen-Mother. 

I  stopped,  dazed,  overcome  by  her  serenity.  The 
grace  and  magnificent  proportions  of  her  body  and  the 
fire  of  her  eyes  held  me  entranced.  I  shall  not  live  long 
enough  fitly  to  describe  my  emotions.  There  she  was, 
queenly  and  wonderful,  and  yet  simple  as  any  one  of  us. 
She  approached  us  and  appeared  to  nod,  as  if  to  say, 
"I  salute  you,  my  children."  Then  she  went  on  with 
her  labors. 

I  turned  to  Crip.    He  was  speechless. 

Immediately  we  started  back  to  our  cell,  for  it  was 
henceforth  to  be  his  also. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  understand  it. 
Life  and  death  are  in  her  keeping,  and  yet  she  knows 
it  not.  You  and  I  don't  count  for  much.  We  pass 
like  the  leaves,  but  life  everlasting  lingers  in  her  body — 
the  very  spirit  of  things  ranges  through  her.  But  I  am 
content  with  my  insignificant  place,  to  live  my  life, 
doing  my  duty  from  day  to  day." 

42 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

I  did  not  answer  him.  We  fell  silent  as  we  made  our 
way  across  the  combs. 

"Suppose  we  take  a  turn  in  the  woods,"  he  suddenly 
suggested,  wheeling  about  and  heading  for  the  door. 
"I  have  new  bearings  to  get  and  you  have  new  lands 
to  explore." 

"I  supposed  you  knew  this  country,"  I  ventured. 

"I  do,  but  the  way  to  this  new  home  of  mine  must 
be  learned." 

Out  into  the  air  we  hurried,  but  he  flew  back  and 
forth  many  times  before  our  door.  He  wanted  to  make 
sure  that  he  knew  it;  then,  flying  round  and  round  in 
ever  wider  circles,  we  mounted  with  ecstasy  into  the 
higher  reaches.  Lake  Espantoso,  with  its  border  of 
great  oaks,  lay  below  us  like  a  bar  of  silver;  and  the 
Master's  house  stood  like  a  sentinel  beside  the  white 
hives  which,  row  on  row,  spread  beneath  us  in  the  sun. 

"That  prominent  knoll,"  said  Crip,  "is  a  thing  to 
remember,  if  you  are  returning  late  and  flying  low. 
And  remember,  too,  that  in  that  window  of  the  Master's 
house  a  lantern  burns.  This  may  sometimes  be  a 
guide.  But,  mark  you,  never  fly  into  it,  though  you 
may  be  tempted.  Better  still,  get  in  before  it  is  too 
dark.  Just  there  by  that  row  of  hives  is  a  tree  to  re- 
member. It  is  a  glory  in  the  spring  with  its  yellow 
flowers,  until  the  cutting  ants  get  it.  They  clip  off 
the  leaves  and  blossoms.  But  it  is  an  excellent  land- 
mark, nevertheless.  And  there's  the  Master,"  went 
on  Crip,  "and  the  Little  One,  and  that  horrid  dog. 
That  little  boy  sits  by  for  hours  while  the  great  one 
labors  with  some  of  us.  The  horrid  dog  sleeps — I'd  like 
to  sting  him.  Things  will  go  wrong — the  Master  sets 

43 


HAPPY 

them  to  rights.  He  seems  to  know  everything ;  and  yet, 
when  he  took  away  some  of  our  honey,  in  spite  of  our 
having  vast  stores  of  it,  we  fought  him.  The  little  he 
took  harmed  us  not  at  all,  and  I  suppose  we  fight  him 
because  our  brothers  have  done  so  for  centuries.  But 
I  talk  too  much." 

After  a  rather  long  flight,  and  much  interesting  con- 
verse, we  reached  our  door  again.  Crip's  experience 
with  the  guard  was  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  for  he  clung 
closely  to  me  for  protection.  But  the  guard  this 
time  passed  him  without  a  word.  He  had  acquired 
the  scent  and  the  note  of  the  hive,  and  henceforth  his 
life  and  all  the  energies  of  his  body  would  be  merged 
with  that  of  the  colony. 


Iff  CHAPTER,  SEVEN 

wBCrip,±ti.e  Wise 


HEN  we  had  returned  to  our 
cell  we  halted,  and  for  a  season 
remained  quiet.  Indeed,  we  slept 
a  tiny  bit,  as  much  as  ever  a  bee  can  sleep  at  a  stretch, 
and  then  we  fell  into  meditation.  Among  other  things, 
I  was  wondering  what  the  Queen-Mother  was  doing 
when  she  popped  her  long,  thin  body  into  each  cell 
as  she  made  her  rounds.  I  could  not  understand  and 
so  I  called  on  Crip  to  explain. 

"Why,   laying    eggs!"   he    said,   right    sharply,    as 
though  annoyed  at  my  ignorance. 

"Well,  what  are  eggs?"  for  I  was  still  no  wiser. 
4  45 


HAPPY 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said,  and  off  we  went  across 
the  combs. 

He  did  not  stop  until  he  reached  the  very  spot 
where  we  had  seen  the  Queen.  The  odor  of  her  was 
still  strong  thereabouts,  but  she  had  gone. 

"Now  look,  stupid!"  Crip  said.  "At  the  bottom  of 
each  of  the  cells  in  this  section  of  comb  is  an  egg." 

I  looked  down  into  one  and,  sure  enough,  a  small, 
thin,  yellowish- white  egg  was  stuck  squarely  in  the 
center  of  it.  I  looked  into  several  other  cells,  and  each 
had  its  one  egg. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  story  which  he  went  on  to 
unfold.  The  wonderful  cycle  from  egg  to  larva,  from 
larva  to  bee,  he  explained  in  fascinating  detail.  I  saw 
at  once  that  he  was  a  real  sage,  that  his  knowledge  was 
boundless,  and  then  to  crown  it  he  told  me  that  even 
the  Queen-Mother  herself  had  sprung  from  an  ordinary 
egg,  having  been  converted  through  miracle  into  a 
queen  ruling  over  this  empire.  Simply  by  feeding  and 
tending  them  differently — only  the  bees  in  their  wisdom 
know  how — the  egg  which  might  develop  into  a  worker 
or  a  drone,  passing  through  a  metamorphosis,  can  be 
made  to  break  from  the  dark  cover  of  the  cell  the  per- 
sonification of  life  eternal,  as  exemplified  in  the  body 
and  the  life  of  the  Queen. 

I  could  not  quite  understand  all  these  things,  but 
I  felt  sure  Crip  was  telling  the  truth;  and  indeed  I 
began  to  look  up  to  him  with  increasing  admiration 
and  wonder  on  account  of  the  worlds  of  things  he  knew.* 

We  were  silent  awhile.  There  rose  again  for  me  the 
night  hymn  of  the  hive.  It  penetrated  me  as  not  before ; 
it  had  a  new  significance,  a  new  message — I  had  been 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

visited  with  a  revelation.  The  sight  I  had  gained  of 
the  Queen-Mother  woke  new  and  tremulous  emotions 
within  me — there  was  a  new  meaning  in  life. 

Crip  stirred  rather  sharply,  breaking  my  train  of 
thought. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  queried. 

"I'm  tired  holding  on.  We  must  get  another  place 
to  rest.  You  see,  with  only  five  legs  the  load  of  my 
body  grows  heavy." 

With  that  we  moved  up  the  comb  to  the  top  of  it, 
and  there  he  spread  himself  out  with  a  little  hum  of 
content.  And  just  then  I  developed  a  curiosity  to 
know  how  he  had  lost  his  leg. 

"You  miss  your  leg,  but  do  you  suffer  pain  on 
account  of  it?  And  how  did  it  happen?" 

"That's  a  short  story.  I  was  coming  home  late  one 
day,  well  laden  with  honey,  when,  without  warning, 
one  of  those  terrible  black  bee-hawks  darted  for  me 
and  clutched  me,  sailing  away  to  the  nearest  bush. 
He  had  quickly  rolled  me  up  with  his  powerful  legs 
and  almost  by  the  time  he  lit  he  was  ready  to  kill 
me  with  one  thrust  of  his  proboscis.  Of  course  I  had 
struggled,  but  when  one  of  those  fellows  gets  his  claws 
on  you  it's  good-by.  I  had  about  ceased  to  struggle 
when  suddenly  there  came  a  tremendous  shock,  and 
the  next  moment  I  was  rolling  on  the  ground  and  shak- 
ing myself  free  from  the  mutilated  hawk.  He  had 
been  torn  to  pieces  by  some  mysterious  force,  and  my 
leg,  my  bread-basket  leg,  was  gone.  At  that  moment 
the  Master  approached  me;  in  his  hands  he  held  a 
long  black  thing  which  I  had  seen  emit  fire  on  other 
occasions,  and  somehow  I  suspected  at  once  he  had 

47 


HAPPY 

saved  me.  The  little  boy  came  hurriedly  up,  stooped 
over  me  and  helped  release  me,  and  in  a  moment  I  was 
circling  round  to  get  my  bearings.  The  little  boy 
and  the  Master — and  even  the  dog — watched  my  move- 
ments with  an  expression  of  satisfaction  on  their  faces. 
I  flew  straightway  home  and  was  thankful  still  to  be 
alive." 

"Tell  me  more  about  this  Master,"  I  begged,  for  I 
was  now  growing  vastly  interested  in  his  activities 
and  in  those  of  the  Little  One,  and  even  the  dog  which 
once  I  tried  to  sting,  because  he  came  so  close  to  our 
hive. 

"Some  say  he  is  good — some  say  that  he  is  bad.  I 
only  know  him  as  the  chopper  of  weeds  about  our  home 
and  as  my  rescuer.  Many  times  since  the  day  he  saved 
me  have  I  heard  him  shooting  bee-hawks.  Indeed,  I 
had  heard  the  little  thunder  of  his  gun  before  that  day, 
but  I  did  not  understand  its  meaning.  They  say,  too, 
that  he  takes  away  our  honey — and  he  did  take  some 
of  ours  once — and  frightens  us  nearly  to  death  with 
the  prospect  of  starvation.  And  they  fall  upon  him  and 
sting  him,  trying  to  drive  him  away.  But  all  this  is 
useless,  they  report,  since  he  comes  armed  with  fire 
and  smoke. 

"Others  tell  of  him  that  in  the  dark,  cold  days,  if 
provisions  run  low,  he  brings  honey  and  closes  the  door 
against  blizzards.  But  I  know  nothing  of  this.  I  have 
not  lived  through  a  winter  and  I  fear  I  shall  never 
know  what  it  means." 

Thus  I  became  infinitely  interested  in  the  Master 
who  passed  from  day  to  day  about  the  yard.  But  I 
was  confused  in  mind  about  him,  Somehow  I  in- 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

stinctively  feared  him  and  I  always  found  myself  ready 
to  attack  him,  as  I  explained  to  Crip. 

"There  would  be  no  use  in  that,"  answered  he. 
"Should  you  sting  him,  you  would  achieve  nothing. 
Instead,  you  would  lose  your  life." 

"How  is  that?"  I  cried,  for  I  did  not  till  then  know 
I  had  a  life — at  least  I  had  never  thought  of  it. 

"You  can  s£ing  once,  but  unless  you  escape  with 
your  stinger,  which  is  rare,  your  life  is  sacrificed." 

I  seemed  to  know  this  and  answered  him  nothing. 

"Is  it  not  a  strange  fatality,"  he  continued,  "that  we 
should  be  given  stingers  with  which  to  defend  ourselves 
and  our  homes,  and  yet,  when  we  make  use  of  them,  we 
lose  our  lives!  Still,  we  are  always  ready  to  strike, 
with  no  thought  of  death." 

"What  is  death?"  I  asked  of  Crip. 

"I  don't  know,  except  that  once  when  the  bee-hawk 
caught  me  I  felt  myself  going  away.  It  grew  dark 
and  I  heard  the  hum  of  wings  that  were  strange  and 
wonderful.  Somehow  you  go  to  sleep  and  forget." 

"I  have  thought  of  death,"  he  went  on.  "I  am  old 
and  battered,  my  days  are  as  the  falling  flowers  when  the 
frost  is  upon  them,  and  the  frost  soon  will  fall." 

I  waited  awhile  in  silence,  but  he  spoke  no  more. 
Soon  he  lay  in  that  buzzing  hive,  asleep,  and  I  was 
not  long  in  following  him  to  where  the  golden  honey 
dripped  in  the  garden  of  dreams. 


.CHAPTER. 
A  Gleaner  of  I 


awakened  about  the  same 
time  and  began  to  stir  about. 
The  first  thing  that  happened 
was  a  new  experience — the  wax-pickers  fell  upon  me 
and  raked  and  scraped  me  for  the  tiny  bits  of  wax 
which  now,  on  account  of  my  voracious  appetite,  had 
begun  to  grow  in  each  of  the  rings  marking  the  under 
sections  of  my  body.  They  were  so  rude  that  at  first 
I  was  inclined  to  resent  their  interference,  which 
seemed  to  be  mere  meddling.  But  when  I  looked 
at  Crip  and  saw  two  busy  wax -pickers  fumbling 
over  him,  I  began  to  understand  that  this  was  part 
of  a  routine,  and  so  I  stood  still  until  they  had 
finished. 

"They  won't  bother  with  me  much  longer,"  said 
Crip,  sadly.  "You  see,  when  one  becomes  old  the 
wax  grows  thinly — so  the  pickers  give  over.  But 

5° 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

you!  They'll  get  you.  I  have  noticed  that  you  are 
rather  greedy  about  eating  honey.  This  means  you'll 
get  fat  and  produce  lots  of  wax." 

"Tell  me  about  wax  and  comb,"  I  begged  of  him. 

"Comb,  my  child,  is  made  of  wax;  this  is  comb  on 
which  you  are  standing.  It  is  everywhere  about  you. 
The  cups  that  hold  our  honey  and  our  bread  are  made 
of  it.  The  cell  in  which  you  were  born  is  of  wax;  and, 
besides,  it  is  used  to  stop  the  holes  in  our  house.  Of 
course  there  are  different  kinds  of  comb,  depending  on 
the  use  to  which  it  is  put.  Why,  these  sheets  of  comb 
with  their  six-sided  cells  are  wonderful  in  their  econ- 
omy, in  their  plan  and  symmetry.  The  cell  we  build 
is  perfect.  No  other  structure  would  serve  our  purposes, 
combining  such  strength  and  capacity.  The  cell  is 
indispensable  to  the  life  of  the  bee ! — otherwise  he  could 
not  exist. '  So  don't  let  me  see  you  make  ready  to  fight 
the  next  time  the  wax-pickers  approach,  and  they'll 
soon  be  after  you  again." 

I  answered  nothing.  I  was  wondering  in  what  far 
age  we  had  learned  to  build  the  six-sided  cell,  and  in 
what  tiny  brain  it  had  been  conceived.  They  fit  so 
perfectly,  I  stood  quite  still  marveling  at  the  harmony 
of  it  all  and  wondering  how  many  things  there  re- 
mained for  me  to  learn.  At  every  turn  I  had  been  con- 
fronted with  something  new.  And  was  it  to  be  so 
to  the  end?  What  could  the  end  be,  of  which  Crip 
frequently  spoke? 

"How  old  are  you?"  I  asked. 

"Two  months — glorious  with  flowers,  but  ending  in 
disaster." 

"What  disaster?" 


HAPPY 

"Well,  you  saw  the  close  of  it — the  death  of  our 
colony." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  I  said.  But  he  was  so  wise  I 
could  scarcely  believe  that  he  was  but  two  months  old, 
for  he  seemed  so  tattered  of  wing  and  battered  of  body ! 

Without  thinking  what  we  were  about,  we  drew  near 
the  door.  Groups  of  workers  were  banked  about 
the  entrance,  waiting  impatiently  to  be  away  at  the 
first  streaks  of  dawn.  Presently  a  note  like  a  bugle-call 
sounded,  and  immediately  the  face  of  things  was 
changed.  By  twos  and  threes  and  fours  the  workers 
took  wing  and  scurried  into  the  fields. 

A  dull  gray  light  lay  on  the  world;  the  air  was  damp 
and  moved  lazily  out  of  the  east;  the  dew  had  fallen 
thick  on  the  flowers  and  now  began  to  twinkle  from 
myriad  angles.  Crip  and  I  had  left  the  hive  at  the  same 
instant,  but  once  on  the  wing  I  forgot  all  about  him 
and  flew  like  mad  this  way  and  that  until  I  caught  a 
whiff  of  fragrance  from  an  unexplored  meadow,  and 
thither  I  hastened.  Strange  and  thrilling  sensation! 
I  had  not  until  now  felt  the  joy  of  dipping  into  the 
flowers  and  searching  out  their  honey-pots.  It  was  a 
field  of  late  sunflowers,  and  all  of  them  had  their  faces 
toward  the  east,  eager  to  look  upon  the  sun.  Joyfully 
they  waved  in  the  breeze  and  beckoned  to  one  another 
as  if  to  say:  "  Good  morning.  How  glorious  is  the  sun, 
our  king!"  In  spite  of  the  dew  on  their  faces,  some 
of  them  already  were  wearing  the  brand  of  the  hot 
summer,  which  had  all  but  gone  and  left  them  beseech- 
ing of  autumn  her  tender  graces. 

"I  am  old  and  frayed,"  I  heard  one  say,  "and  these 
mornings  chill  me,  but  my  work  is  done.  The  heart 

52 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

and  soul  of  me  are  here;  I  shall  not  pass;  I  shall  en- 
dure; my  seed  shall  spring  up  to  brighten  the  world." 

"But  I  am  young,"  a  tender  blossom  said,  "and 
I  shall  be  cut  off.  The  frost  will  slay  me  and  I  shall 
have  rattled  down  to  dust  ere  my  soul  has  developed 
its  immortal  parts." 

At  the  moment  I  was  taking  honey  from  its  lips, 
and  I  felt  a  quivering  as  if  its  heart  fluttered. 

"  Dear  little  flower,"  I  said,  "you  are  living  your  life; 
you  cannot  die;  you  will  be  swallowed  up  in  the  uni- 
versal spirit  of  things.  Your  face  has  spread  a  glamour 
of  gold  in  the  world;  your  honey  has  nourished  a 
thousand  winged  things;  your  scented  breath  has 
floated  far  and  has  carried  blessings  into  silent  places. 
Memory  of  you  will  linger;  it  will  be  preserved  by  the 
things  you  have  fed,  by  the  things  you  have  gladdened. 
And,  too,  I  promise  that  I  shall  remember  you!" 

"How  can  you  remember  me,"  the  flower  asked, 
"when  you,  too,  are  doomed?" 

"What!"  I  cried.  "Doomed!  Why,  I  am  young,  I 
am  swift,  I  am  beautiful,  I  am  glorious!" 

"Yes,  and  so  am  I.    But  we  pass." 

"You  are  wise  for  so  young  a  flower,"  spoke  up  the 
elder  blossom.  "Both  of  you  are  of  the  heavens;  both 
have  your  lives  before  you  in  this  tiny  garden,  ere  you 
return  to  the  golden  fields  that  spread  out  toward  the 
sun.  You  are  immortal." 

Just  then  I  saw  one  of  the  petals  blow  away  from 
the  face  of  the  elder  flower.  It  fluttered  and  fluttered 
and  finally  fell  to  the  earth.  Scarcely  had  it  struck 
the  ground  when  something  with  a  long,  thin  body 
and  active  legs  seized  it  and  began  struggling  to  draw 

53 


HAPPY 

it  through  the  grass,  intent  on  some  mysterious  pur- 
pose. I  was  quite  absorbed,  and  from  my  post  of 
vantage  on  the  breast  of  the  floweret  I  followed  the 
movements  of  the  thing  that  tugged  at  the  petal. 
I  had  never  seen  this  thing  before  and  I  was  wishing 
for  Crip,  when,  behold!  he  appeared. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  cried  at  me.  "How 
many  loads  have  you  gathered?  What  are  you 
staring  at?" 

He  had  submerged  me  with  questions.  I  answered 
none  of  them.  I  had,  indeed,  forgotten  my  work 
momentarily,  so  absorbed  had  I  been  in  the  talk  of 
the  flowers. 

"Have  you  a  load?    Let's  go,"  cried  he. 

I  was  ready,  truly,  but  I  could  not  refrain  from  asking 
him  about  this  strange  animal  that  pulled  the  leaf  so 
sedulously  through  the  grass. 

"An  ant!"  Crip  answered,  rather  glumly. 

"Do  you  see  what  he  is  about?" 

"Yes  he  is  gathering  his  winter  stores.  A  time 
comes  when  he  must  go  indoors  and  he  must  have 
food  even  as  you  and  I.  Come  now,  let's  be  off." 

I  looked  down  at  the  ant  struggling  with  his  burden 
and  then  at  the  disheveled  flower,  casting  a  last  glance 
at  the  tender  face  which  had  yielded  up  honey  to  me, 
wondering  at  the  strangeness  of  it  all. 

"Come  on,"  cried  Crip,  rising  on  wing. 

I  did  not  speak,  but  followed  him.  I  flew  at  his 
heels  until  he  began  to  fag  a  bit  and  then  I  came  up 
alongside,  careful,  however,  not  to  outdistance  him. 
I  soon  saw  that  he  had  a  heavier  load  than  I,  and  I 
felt  ashamed,  but  I  knew  this  had  come  through  my 

54 


THE   LIFE  OF  A   BEE 

having  wasted  a  few  minutes,  and  I  resolved  then  and 
there  that  the  next  time  I  should  be  first. 

Another  thing  I  noticed,  we  were  flying  very  low, 
so  near  the  earth  we  almost  brushed  the  tops  of  the 
bushes.  I  asked  Crip  the  reason. 

''The  wind,"  he  answered,  in  better  humor  than 
could  have  been  expected.  "Don't  you  feel  that 
heavy  head  current  ?  If  you  should  go  up  it  would  be 
a  hard  fight  home  with  these  loads.  You  see,  there  are 
currents  and  currents,"  he  went  on,  "and  you  must 
use  your  wits.  Take  the  current  that  blows  your  way. 
Profit  by  whatever  nature  bestows." 

Almost  at  once  I  saw  the  yard  with  its  white  hives, 
like  dots,  and  the  Master  with  the  Little  One  and  the 
dog  that  seemed  always  with  them.  The  next  moment 
Crip  and  I  were  dropping  down  to  our  hive.  I  was 
overjoyed  when  I  fell  upon  the  alighting-board,  and 
could  not  restrain  my  exuberance  of  feeling.  So  I 
bowed  my  head  humbly  as  best  I  might  with  the 
load  I  carried,  uttering  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving — the 
very  hymn,  Crip  told  me,  that  every  worker  for  a 
million  years  had  uttered  on  returning  to  his  hive  with 
his  first  load  of  honey.  I  cannot  explain,  but  some 
mysterious  force  seized  me,  compelling  me  to  bow  my 
head  and  to  sing.  I  should  have  done  it  had  it  cost 
my  life.  Such  is  the  law  of  the  hive,  just  as  there  is 
the  law  of  the  jungle.  I  did  not  know  why  I  was  so 
happy ,  but  something  bubbled  over  in  me,  and  the 
very  intoxication  of  it  finally  sent  me  running  madly 
to  deposit  my  load  in  a  waiting  cell,  and  once  more  to 
take  wing  for  the  field  of  the  flowers  of  the  sun. 


N  my  way  back  the  first 
rays  of  light  caught  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  trees 
and  gilded  the  flying  clouds 
in  the  east.  Far  in  the 
west,  black  and  forbidding  masses  of  cloud  were 
gathering,  and  the  wind,  I  observed,  had  shifted  its 
course.  Again  I  had  lost  Crip,  and  I  was  regretful, 
for  there  were  questions  which  only  he  could  answer. 
But  I  flew  all  the  faster  for  being  alone,  and  soon 
found  the  very  place  and  the  very  flowers  I  had  vis- 
ited before.  Speedily  I  took  my  load,  but  I  could  not 

56 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

fail  to  return  to  the  flowers  I  had  come  to  love.  Other 
petals  from  the  elder  had  fluttered  away,  due  either  to 
the  eager  foraging  of  bees  or  to  the  gusty  impatience 
of  the  wind.  The  younger  had  opened  wider  her  heart 
to  the  sun. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  you,"  she  said,  sweetly. 
"All  that  I  have  I  yield  up  to  you  gladly.  This 
is  my  end.  Oh,  how  glorious  is  life!  How  splendid 
to  be  able  to  give  of  one's  store  so  that  life  shall 
go  on  eternally!" 

"Yes,  eternally,"  echoed  the  elder  blossom.  "Even 
I,  in  dying,  leave  my  seed  behind  to  follow  the  summer 
suns  through  numberless  ages;  and  I  breathe  into  the 
world  an  imperishable  fragrance.  It  shall  be  wafted 
to  the  utmost  bounds;  it  shall  gladden  the  hearts  of 
the  lowliest.  Though  it  be  scattered  by  the  winds,  it 
shall  not  cease  to  exist." 

By  this  time  I  had  filled  my  honey-sac,  and,  after 
flying  three  times  around  these  two  well-beloved  blos- 
soms, I  made  for  home.  I  was  depressed  by  the  talk 
which  I  had  heard.  I  could  not  wholly  comprehend  it, 
and  I  wanted  to  consult  Crip. 

I  was  not  long  reaching  our  hive,  for  the  wind  seemed 
to  get  under  me  and  literally  to  blow  me  on.  I  de- 
posited my  treasure,  hurried  out  again,  and  once  more 
headed  for  the  sunflower-field,  where  I  quickly  gathered 
a  load.  Then  straight  for  home.  It  was  difficult  fly- 
ing now,  because  the  wind  was  in  my  face.  I  rose 
higher,  following  Crip's  advice,  but  still  it  blew  and 
almost  beat  me  back.  The  black  clouds  which  I  re- 
membered having  seen  in  the  west  seemed  almost  over 
me,  and  suddenly  terrific  noises  crashed  around.  It 

57 


HAPPY 

grew  dark  and  great  flashes  of  fire  tore  the  heavens 
apart  and  blinded  me. 

This  terrified  me.  I  knew  not  its  meaning,  but  in- 
stinctively I  fled  homeward.  But  my  progress  was 
slow,  and  I  had  not  gone  far  when  again  the  whole 
world  seemed  to  tremble,  shaken  through  and  through 
by  the  most  violent  rumblings  conceivable.  It  grew 
so  dark  I  almost  stopped  in  my  flight,  not  sure  of  my 
way.  At  this  moment  of  hesitation  something  struck 
me  squarely  in  the  back,  almost  knocking  me  down. 
It  had  been  a  great  drop  of  water,  and  almost  im- 
mediately others  began  to  pelt  me.  Soaking  wet  and 
tossed  by  the  gale,  I  was  forced  to  alight.  As  I  dropped 
downward  I  saw  nothing  but  black  shadows,  and 
presently  I  was  dashed  into  a  great  tree.  I  seized  a 
branch  that  offered  shelter,  which  proved  to  be  none 
too  well  protected  against  the  blast  that  now  drove 
the  rain  in  solid  sheets.  I  was  cold,  and  clambered 
around  to  the  under  side  of  the  limb,  and  there, 
feeling  none  too  secure,  I  grudgingly  deposited  some 
of  my  honey  in  a  crevice.  By  lightening  my  load  I 
was  better  able  to  keep  my  balance;  but  so  gusty  was 
the  blast  that  it  whipped  the  rain  all  over  me,  and 
I  was  unable  to  find  a  spot  that  was  dry.  I  began 
to  climb  from  one  branch  to  another  in  the  hope  of 
reaching  a  safer  haven,  but,  alas!  none  was  to  be  found. 

Worse  things,  too,  were  awaiting  me.  I  was  crying 
for  Crip  when  the  branch  to  which  I  clung  suddenly 
snapped.  Down  and  down  it  fell  while  I  clung  to  it. 
I  was  too  cold  and  wet  to  try  to  take  wing,  and  present- 
ly the  branch  crashed  into  a  swirling  stream  of  water. 
At  first  I  was  entirely  submerged.  It  seemed  an  inter- 

58 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

minable  time  that  I  stayed  under  the  water;  but  pres- 
ently I  came  to  the  surface  and  caught  my  breath. 
Cold  as  I  was,  I  still  clung  with  all  the  tenacity  of  my 
being  to  the  floating  branch  that  was  hurried  onward 
by  the  raging  torrent.  I  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little 
more  comfortable  when  over  went  the  branch  again 
in  the  seething  water,  and  again  I  seemed  to  go  down 
to  immeasurable  depths.  This  time  I  felt  my  legs 
giving  way  in  the  rush  of  the  waters.  My  head  swam 
and  I  strangled,  but  just  as  it  seemed  all  over  with 
me  the  branch  again  came  to  the  surface.  I  caught 
my  breath,  shifted  slightly  my  footing,  and  hurriedly 
emptied  my  honey-sac.  This  gave  me  more  con- 
fidence in  spite  of  the  numbness  that  had  nearly  over- 
come me  from  the  cold  and  water.  There  I  sat  shak- 
ing, awaiting  the  next  turn  of  the  branch,  which  now 
seemed  merely  to  be  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  waters. 
The  wind  was  still  whistling  through  the  trees,  the  rain 
was  falling  in  torrents,  and  the  thunder  rumbled  in 
unabated  violence. 

How  long  I  clung  to  the  branch  in  desperation  I  do 
not  know.  But  after  a  time  the  rain  ceased,  the  wind 
fell  to  a  whimper  among  the  bushes,  and  the  darkness 
broke  along  the  horizon.  It  began  to  grow  a  little 
brighter.  Imagine  my  joy,  therefore,  to  find  that  my 
perch  was  now  quite  clear  of  the  flood  waters,  the 
branch  safely  nestling  in  the  top  of  a  bush.  In  a  short 
space  it  grew  warmer,  and  I  took  courage;  I  began  to 
dry  myself  and  to  preen  my  wings.  The  light  gained, 
and  before  long,  after  trying  out  my  strength,  I  found 
that  I  could  again  mount  into  the  air,  and  with  one 
wide  sweep  I  made  for  home. 

59 


CHAPTER,  TEN 

The  Afterma-bh 


FLEW  with  all  my  speed,  and  I  was 
almost  overcome  with  joy  when  I  saw 
my  house.  I  noticed,  too,  as  I  ap- 
proached, the  Master  bending  over  a  neighboring  hive, 
and  I  wondered  what  was  the  matter.  But  on  alight- 
ing I  was  too  happy  to  inquire  about  anything.  I  rushed 
inside  and  sang  a  song  of  thanksgiving  at  my  deliverance. 

Then  I  bolted  straight  for  my  cell  to  find  my  beloved 
Crip.  He  welcomed  me  with  joy. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  feared  you  were  lost.  You 
ought  to  have  come  home  before  the  storm  broke. 
But  I'm  happy  you  escaped.  The  next  time  you  see 
great  piles  of  cloud,  make  haste  homeward.  Your 
life  is  too  precious  to  lose  through  stupidity." 

He  came  close  and  gave  me  a  kiss,  drawing  his 
tongue  across  my  mouth.  The  taste  of  honey  excited 
me,  and  immediately  I  dropped  into  a  cell  and  helped 
myself.  I  still  felt  stiff  and  cold  from  my  experiences, 
and  complained  to  Crip. 

60 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

"It  might  have  been  worse,"  he  said,  when  I  had 
told  him  all  that  had  befallen  me.  "If  you  live  long 
enough  you  will  have  some  real  adventures,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

I  was  inclined  to  resent  his  comment,  for  I  felt  that 
I  should  never  again  pass  through  such  a  storm  and 
survive. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  real  storm  is,  Crip?"  I  asked, 
with  offended  pride.  But  he  ignored  my  query. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "Do  you  hear  that 
alarm?" 

A  note  I  had  heard  before  suddenly  ran  through  the 
hive.  I  could  not  at  first  remember  the  occasion,  but 
instantly  both  Crip  and  I  were  off.  By  the  time  we 
were  out  I  remembered  what  the  sound  meant.  It 
was  the  robber-call.  There  was  honey  at  hand — pure 
honey  for  the  taking,  and  off  we  went. 

It  was  just  where  the  Master  stood.  He  had 
righted  a  hive  which  had  blown  down  in  the  storm, 
and  was  endeavoring  to  place  a  net  over  it,  but  already 
thousands  of  bees  were  swarming  about. 

"It  is  too  late,"  Crip  said  to  me,  as  we  lit  on  the 
bottom-board  and  hurried  into  the  hive.  "They  are 
dead.  I  see  it  all.  The  rains  undermined  the 
foundations  and  the  hive  toppled  over  into  the 
ditch.  The  storm  waters  crept  up  and  up,  sub- 
merging it." 

A  little  honey  remained  in  the  old  combs,  and  we 
were  soon  busy  with  its  salvage.  We  helped  ourselves 
to  one  load  only,  for  when  we  returned  the  Master  had 
covered  over  the  hive  with  his  net.  We  flew  about  the 
place  for  a  while,  hoping  to  find  some  tiny  hole  through 

5  61 


HAPPY 

which  we  might  creep ;  but  none  could  be  found.     The 
net  was  covered  with  scrambling  bees. 

"Did  all  the  bees  drown?"  I  asked. 

"Probably,"  he  answered. 

"Here's  one  on  the  ground  that  seems  to  be  alive." 

We  both  lit  beside  the  little  fellow  struggling  to  dry 
himself.  We  approached  and  licked  him  all  over, 
and  when  he  could  fly  Crip  begged  him  to  come  home 
with  us,  since  his  own  colony  had  ceased  to  exist. 

Right  gladly  he  followed  us;  but  when  we  had 
reached  the  entrance  he  seemed  to  realize  the  serious- 
ness of  daring  to  enter  a  strange  hive.  He  drew  back, 
but  we  urged  him,  standing  one  on  either  side.  Al- 
most immediately,  however,  a  guard  scented  him  and 
flew  at  him.  Crip  headed  him  off,  but  another  quickly 
attacked  from  the  same  quarter.  He  caught  the 
stranger,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  save  him.  When 
we  finally  freed  him  of  the  advance  guards,  we  said  to 
the  stranger,  "Run  for  your  life!" 

We  three  rushed  like  mad  into  the  hive  and  escaped 
further  interference,  and  never  again  was  he  questioned 
as  to  his  identity. 

He  marched  with  us  straight  up  to  our  cell,  and 
thenceforward  he  claimed  it  for  his  own. 

"What  shall  we  call  him?"  I  asked  of  Crip,  when  we 
had  left  him  to  recover  and  were  once  more  on  our 
way  to  the  fields. 

"Let's  see.     Suppose  we  call  him  Buzz-Buzz." 

"Excellent!"  I  cried. 

So,  Buzz-Buzz  it  was,  then  and  ever  after. 

Crip  and  I  reached  the  entrance  and  looked  about 
us.  Mountainous  black  clouds  still  frowned,  and  in 

62 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

the  distance  thunder  rumbled.  It  was  much  brighter, 
but  still  the  sun  was  hid  and  a  haze  of  mist  hung  about 
the  world  as  far  as  eye  could  see. 

"We  cannot  safely  go  yet,"  cried  Crip.  "The  storm 
might  break  again.  Besides,  there  is  no  honey  in  the 
fields;  it  has  been  washed  away  by  the  rains.  It  will 
be  several  hours  before  a  trace  can  be  found;  even  a 
day  or  two  will  pass  ere  some  of  the  flowers  fill  their 
cups.  The  rain  destroys  the  flow  of  honey  for  a  time, 
and  too  much  rain  will  cut  off  the  crop  entirely." 

While  we  were  talking  Buzz-Buzz  approached. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "you  ran  away  and  left  me,  but  I 
warn  you  that  when  there  are  things  to  do  you  will 
find  me  close  to  you." 

Presently  we  all  rose  on  our  wings,  for  the  rain 
seemed  to  have  spent  itself  and  the  wind  in  the  cat- 
claw  tree  had  fallen  to  a  whisper.  The  three  of  us  flew, 
for  a  while  keeping  closely  in  touch,  but  I  was  deter- 
mined to  guide,  and  had  set  my  mind  on  seeing  my 
sunflower-field.  I  feared,  and,  as  it  proved,  rightly, 
that  the  floods  had  swept  them  away.  On  reaching 
the  spot  where  the  beautiful  flowers  had  grown,  we 
found  it  a  quagmire  full  of  broken  stalks.  Nothing  was 
there  to  remind  of  the  fragrant  and  glorious  garden 
which  only  this  day  had  displayed  its  choicest  blossoms 
to  gladden  the  earth.  And  now  all  had  vanished. 

I  said  not  a  word,  but  Crip  seemed  to  divine  the 
reason  which  inspired  my  flying  round  and  roun£ 
about  the  spot  where  I  had  gathered  my  first  load  of 
honey  and  where  I  had  heard  the  fascinating  speech 
of  the  flowers  of  the  sun.  He  circled  about  with  me, 
while  Buzz-Buzz,  puzzled  at  our  actions,  sailed  in 


HAPPY 

wider  curves.  He  did  not  lose  sight  of  us,  however, 
and  presently  joined  us  again. 

"What's  all  this  about?"  he  queried. 

"Why,  only  to-day  this  spot  was  wonderful  with 
flowers.  Look  at  it  now!"  I  had  spoken. 

"That  is  nothing  extraordinary,"  observed  Crip. 
"It  is  only  a  chapter  out  of  any  life  you  choose.  They 
had  achieved  all  the  things  for  which  they  were  sent 
into  the  world.  They  were  ready  to  go." 

It  was  hard  for  me  to  think  that  the  tender  little 
blossom  which  had  given  me  honey  had  filled  its  full 
scope  of  existence.  It  seemed  fit  for  days  of  service. 
What  a  pity  that  it  was  not  permitted  to  radiate  its 
beauty  in  a  world  all  too  barren! 

We  said  very  little  more,  but  made  for  home.  This 
must  have  been  instinctive,  for  suddenly  we  found  the 
darkness  descending  upon  us  like  a  flood. 


CHAPTER,  ELEVEN 

The  Fight  with  the 
Web  Worms 


reached  home  quickly  and  were 
making  our  way  along  the  combs, 
when  I  was  accosted  by  a  preten- 
tious bee. 

"It's  your  turn  to  nurse.  Come  with  me.  This 
shall  be  your  section.  These  little  ones  are  to  be  fed 
to-night." 

"Well,  with  what  shall  I  feed  them?"  I  asked,  im- 
pulsively, somewhat  irritated  to  think  that  I,  a  honey- 
gatherer,  should  be  set  at  such  a  task. 

In  answer  to  my  question  I  got  only  a  look;  but  I 
shall  not  forget  it — it  was  withering.  I  felt  ashamed 
of  myself;  and  I  resolved  never  again  to  question  an 
assignment  of  duty. 

6s 


HAPPY 

Immediately  I  set  about  my  task.  Without  think- 
ing, I  peeped  into  two  or  three  cells  and  found  that  the 
bees  allotted  to  me  were  but  four  days  old.  Miraculous 
as  it  may  seem,  while  I  knew  nothing  about  preparing 
food  for  the  young,  I  fell  to  it  with  zest.  Taking  a 
supply  of  honey  from  one  cell,  I  sought  one  stored  with 
pollen;  and  there,  without  ceremony,  I  began  to  mix 
honey  and  bread,  making  a  thin  paste  to  which  I  had 
to  add  ever  so  little  water.  Then  I  placed  the  least  bit 
of  it  in  each  of  the  cells  of  my  section.  The  tiny  worm- 
like  bees  began  to  wriggle,  so  I  knew  at  once  that  I 
had  succeeded  in  my  task. 

Several  days  now  rolled  away  in  comparative  idle- 
ness. The  great  storm  had  completely  washed  out 
the  supplies  of  honey,  leaving  the  flowers  draggled  and 
broken.  We  busied  ourselves  with  chores  about  the 
hive  and  with  flights  into  the  fields,  ever  on  the  scout 
for  sweets.  For  my  part,  I  was  set  to  filling  up  a  hole  in 
the  uppermost  corner  of  the  hive.  At  the  moment  it 
was  serving  as  a  ventilator.  A  little  stream  of  air  was 
constantly  flowing  out  of  it ;  but  the  cold  v/eather  was 
on  its  way  and  the  time  had  come  to  stop  the  hole. 
With  winter  once  fallen,  it  would  be  too  late. 

"The  mesquite-trees  are  full  of  gum,"  said  the  dear 
old  fellow  who  set  me  to  my  task.  "Hurry  and  bring 
home  a  good  supply.  I  hear  you  are  a  capital  hand 
at  this  sort  of  thing." 

So  I  went  swiftly  forth,  and  soon  I  found  a  crystal 
drop  of  gum  on  a  mesquite-tree.  I  bit  off  scraps  of  it 
quite  easily,  and  soon  had  my  basket-legs  filled  with 
the  gum;  and  it  required  only  a  moment  to  return  and 
pack  it  in  the  hole  in  the  hive. 

66 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

"You're  a  clever  fellow,"  said  the  old  director. 
"But  I  see  bits  of  gum  have  fallen  on  the  bottom- 
board  and  already  there  are  accumulations  which  af- 
ford excellent  hiding-places  for  web-worms.  Go  and 
clean  them  out,  if  you  please." 

I  went  promptly,  and  sure  enough,  chips  from  my 
patching  and  from  many  others  and  scraps  of  comb  had 
gathered  in  the  corner,  and  I  found  myself  facing  a 
considerable  undertaking.  Time  after  time  I  seized 
scraps  in  my  mandibles  and  flew  away  with  them, 
dropping  them  outside. 

I  was  far  from  the  end  of  my  labors  when  suddenly 
the  ugliest  thing  I  had  ever  seen  burst  out  on  me. 
It  was  a  long,  white-brown  worm,  which  I  had  un- 
covered in  the  debris.  It  wriggled  away  as  though 
aware  of  danger. 

I  was  standing  by,  irresolute,  when  I  heard  a  call, 
from  I  knew  not  what  source. 

"Why  don't  you  seize  him,  coward!" 

I  was  not  a  coward,  but  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  what  to  do.  But  the  little  rascal  that  had  scolded 
me  knew,  and  fell  upon  the  monster  manfully. 

Over  and  over  the  worm  turned,  writhing  like  a 
beast  in  torment,  and  suddenly  it  twisted  itself  quite 
out  of  the  clutches  of  its  enemy  and  made  for  a  cell 
in  the  nearest  comb. 

Up  to  this  point  I  had  taken  no  hand  in  the  fight, 
but  now  I  joined  in  the  pursuit.  In  the  mean  time  the 
worm  had  escaped  and  was  trying  to  hide  in  a  cell. 

We  stopped  for  a  moment,  the  two  of  us,  peering 
at  him,  wondering  what  next  to  do.  At  least  I  was 
wondering,  when  my  mentor  spoke  out  sharply. 

6? 


HAPPY 

"  You're  a  poor  excuse  for  a  bee!  If  you  had  helped 
we  should  have  done  for  him  by  this  time.  We  have 
still  a  chance  to  save  ourselves.  Now,  when  I  dive 
in  upon  him,  he  will  probably  rush  out,  throwing  me 
from  the  combs.  Then  you  must  do  your  work. 
Hold  him  until  I  come,  and  between  us  we  can  manage 
him." 

"Shall  I  sting  him?"  Tasked. 

"No,  you  idiot!  It's  not  so  desperate  as  that. 
You  ought  to  know  that  only  in  a  great  emergency 
should  a  bee  sacrifice  his  life.  Now  mind  you;  here 
I  go!" 

With  that  he  lurched  forward,  and  instantly  back 
he  came,  the  worm  plunging  along  with  him.  I  also 
seized  the  intruder,  and  the  three  of  us  dropped  to  the 
floor.  Round  and  round  we  were  thrown  until  I 
thought  I  was  about  to  be  beaten  to  death,  but  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  die  rather  than  have  fresh  slurs 
cast  upon  my  courage.  I  am  doubtful  whether  we 
could  have  won  the  battle  if  two  other  active  bees 
had  not  come  to  our  assistance.  The  four  of  us  soon 
had  the  breath  out  of  the  worm's  wriggling  body,  and 
then  we  dragged  him  to  the  front  of  the  hive.  After 
vain  efforts  to  fly  away  with  him  in  the  burial  fashion 
of  our  people,  we  found  the  best  we  could  do  was  to 
drop  him  to  the  ground  from  the  edge  of  our  board. 

I  was  quite  out  of  breath,  and  stood  panting  on 
the  spot,  when,  lo!  from  the  clouds  dropped  Crip. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  inquired. 

"Nothing  much.  We've  just  captured  a  great 
worm — one  of  our  enemies.  There  he  lies  on  the 
ground." 

68 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

Crip  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  board  and  looked 
down.  "Why,  he  isn't  dead." 

I  looked,  and,  sure  enough,  he  seemed  to  be  alive. 
But  on  closer  inspection  I  saw  that  a  multitude  of 
small  black  creatures  had  taken  possession  of  the 
body. 

"He  is  dead  for  certain,"  I  said.  "Some  bugs  have 
seized  him  for  prey." 

Crip  looked  again.  "Why,  those  are  black  army 
ants,"  he  exclaimed;  "one  of  the  worst  enemies  a  bee 
can  meet.  Sometimes,  when  they  are  hungry,  they 
rush  into  the  hive  and  help  themselves.  It  is  most 
difficult  to  deal  with  them.  They  nab  you  by  the  leg, 
when  they  do  not  sting  you,  and  you  cannot  free  your- 
self from  their  deadly  grip." 

I  looked  at  Crip  in  silence.  Was  there  no  end  to 
perils  ? 

" Let  us  hope  they'll  travel  on,"  he  added.  "There's 
plenty  of  food  abroad  for  them.  But  tell  me,  where 
did  you  find  that  worm?" 

"Back  in  the  far  corner.  Come  with  me.  I  was 
cleaning  out  the  debris  when  I  came  upon  him." 

"Well,  did  you  finish  your  task?" 

I  had  quite  forgotten  it.  I  had  been  so  absorbed 
in  the  fight  that  the  original  undertaking  had  gone 
out  of  mind. 

" Then  come  on.     I'll  help  you." 

With  that  Crip  led  off,  limpingly.  I  followed  by  his 
side,  amazed  at  his  speed. 

Soon  we  came  to  the  place.  Each  of  us  seized  a  bit 
of  the  debris,  and  away  we  went  to  deposit  it  far  from 
the  entrance  to  our  home. 


HAPPY 

"  I  see  where  your  worm  came  from,"  Crip  observed. 
"  There's  a  hole  in  the  board,  and  he  found  it,  then 
crept  in  stealthily  and  hid  in  this  little  heap  of  rubbish. 
I'm  a  bad  guesser,  or  we'll  find  another  here  any 
minute." 

And  sure  enough.  Crip  seized  a  piece  of  comb,  and, 
upon  dragging  it  away,  out  sprang  another  worm,  even 
more  forbidding  than  the  other. 

Crip  was  the  first  to  spy  him,  and,  valiant  warrior 
that  he  was,  seized  him  instantly.  I  attacked  him, 
also,  with  all  my  might.  But  the  worm,  a  full-grown 
one,  and  twice  as  big  as  both  of  us,  simply  flung  us 
about  and  thrashed  us  unmercifully.  He  quite  knocked 
me  to  bits;  but  I  never  relaxed  my  hold,  nor  did  Crip. 
It  was  a  poor  showing  that  we  were  making,  when 
several  guards  rushed  to  our  assistance.  The  fight 
was  soon  over  and  the  monster  lay  still. 

"He's  dead,"  said  one  of  the  new-comers.  "Out 
with  him." 

We  all  fell  to,  dragging  him  along.  It  took  the  com- 
bined energies  of  four  of  us  to  move  his  huge  form. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  the  edge  of  our  alighting-board, 
and  down  we  dropped  him  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
black  ants,  who  immediately  swarmed  over  him.  One 
could  almost  imagine  that  they  thanked  us  for  the 
delicacy  we  had  tossed  them.  I  wondered  what  the 
ants  thought  of  us,  if  they  thought  at  all.  I  had  be- 
come particularly  interested  in  those  big  red  ones  that 
ran  along  the  tiny  trail  skirting  our  home. 

I  was  looking  down  at  the  worm,  covered  with  the 
little  black  ants,  when,  in  a  final  paroxysm,  he  flounced 
violently,  scattering  the  little  army  that  beset  him. 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

But  once  again  they  fell  upon  him,  and  presently  they 
had  cut  him  entirely  to  pieces,  carrying  away  every 
scrap  for  a  feast. 

In  the  economy  of  things,  these  worms  had  grown 
and  fattened  on  the  refuse  of  our  hive,  and  now  they 
had  become  food  in  their  turn  for  a  host  of  tiny  crea- 
tures which  roamed  the  earth  below,  all  this  seemingly 
in  accordance  with  some  unknown  law. 

I  stood  there  watching  them  for  some  time,  until 
the  last  ant  made  off,  following  with  unerring  aim  the 
trail  of  his  fellows.  Soon  they  were  lost  to  sight.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  this  last  one  disappeared  under  a 
log  where  the  Master  often  sat.  I  wondered  what  re- 
lation there  might  be  between  them,  if  in  some  mys- 
terious way  they  worked  together,  for  I  remembered 
that  Crip  had  told  me  that  not  only  the  Master,  but 
even  the  ants,  sometimes  raided  our  hives,  taking  our 
honey.  I  turned  to  ask  him  to  explain,  but  he  was 
not  to  be  seen  among  the  bees  swarming  upon  the 
board.  I  must  find  him. 


CHAPTER,  TWELVE 

The  \VbundinA  °f  Crip 


•:-•:•:•:: 
&/.. 

»|     •    >       .\V^^^-«.      ^— v    I  •*— 

to  the  field  of  battle  I  hastened. 
"Tell  me,"  1  cried  in  distress, 
for  Crip  was  lying  quite  still  on  the  floor,  "what  is  the 
matter?" 

"Ah,  I  fear  I  am  done  for  at  last." 

Grieved  by  his  words,  I  rushed  up  to  him,  saluting 
him,  pressing  my  tongue  to  his  lips,  praying  for  his  life. 
I  felt  him  all  over,  and  at  last  came  to  a  little  moist 
spot  on  his  body,  and  realized  that  he  had  lost  his  last 
basket-leg.  I  wiped  his  eyes,  and  came  close  to  him  to 
warm  him  a  bit,  for  he  seemed  cold  and  almost  lifeless. 

"Go  your  way,"  he  murmured,  dejectedly.  "Leave 
me  quite  alone.  My  work  is  done;  I  shall  pass.  Re- 
member me  sometimes  when  you  cleave  the  air  and 
salute  the  sun  and  our  mysterious  Master." 

72 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

By  this  time  I  was  overcome  with  sorrow.  My  poor 
dear  friend,  the  very  personification  of  wisdom,  seemed 
passing  out  of  my  life. 

"No — don't — please — don't  talk  so  mournfully!"  I 
cried.  "You  will  get  well.  Do!  I  so  want  you  to 
stay  with  me." 

At  this  he  seemed  to  stir  a  little  and,  with  an  effort, 
raised  himself  on  his  remaining  legs. 

"I  cannot  walk,  you  see.  I  cannot  be  sure  of  hold- 
ing my  weight  on  the  combs,  even  if  I  am  not  bleeding 
to  death." 

I  was  so  shocked  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  me  to 
stanch  his  wound;  but  instantly  I  fell  to  it  most 
vigorously. 

"That  will  help,"  he  said.  "Do  you  think  I  have 
done  well  with  my  life?"  Crip  asked.  "Do  you  think 
I  have  helped  our  people?" 

I  answered  that  he  had  been  wonderful — that  he 
had  worked  faithfully  for  two  houses,  and  all  for  the 
betterment  of  our  race — the  Bee. 

"You  really  think  me  deserving?  Then  I  am 
happy." 

He  seemed  suddenly  to  take  on  new  life,  and  began 
to  flap  his  wings  for  joy. 

After  a  little  pause  he  again  flapped  his  wings  vio- 
lently. I  did  not  understand. 

"I  still  can  fly!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  can  fly!  Go 
now,  finish  your  work,"  he  commanded.  "Perhaps 
I  shall  yet  be  able  to  labor  for  a  little;  but  I  want  to 
be  as  much  as  possible  with  you.  Go  now." 

I  went  at  his  word,  but  when  I  came  to  the  place  of 
the  debris,  no  scrap  remained.  My  fellow-workers, 

73 


HAPPY 

alarmed  at  the  news  of  the  worms,  had  fallen  upon  it 
and  borne  it  all  away. 

Almost  without  thinking,  I  moved  slowly  toward  the 
door  of  the  hive,  for  the  afternoon  was  sultry  and 
there  now  seemed  nothing  to  do.  Indeed,  when  I 
reached  the  outside  the  bees  were  heaped  on  the  board, 
and  they  clung  in  great  masses  to  the  front  of  the  hive. 

"What  idlers!"  thought  I.  But  I  quickly  realized 
that  there  was  nothing  in  the  fields  to  gather,  and 
further,  I  knew  that  our  hive  was  well  stored  with 
bread  and  honey  against  any  possible  contingency. 

I  made  my  way  through  the  crowd,  and  presently  I, 
too,  was  seized  with  the  fever  of  sleep,  and,  taking  my 
place  among  a  group  that  clung  to  the  uppermost 
front  of  the  hive,  I  soon  fell  asleep. 

How  long  I  slept  I  know  not,  but  when  again  I 
roused  myself  a  summer  moon  was  streaming  above 
us,  big  and  gloriously  bright.  The  little  dots  of  stars 
that  glinted  through  were  almost  lost  in  the  sea  of 
light.  I  could  hear  the  night  hymn  of  the  hive  clearly, 
just  as  long  ago  I  heard  it  for  the  first  time.  It  was 
the  low,  murmured  music  of  a  thousand  voices.  This 
hymn  of  the  night  was  like  the  throbbing  of  a  muf- 
fled ^Eolian  harp.  Mingling  with  its  harmonies  rose 
the  dull  whirring  of  many  wings  set  to  the  task  of 
driving  the  sweet  night  air  into  the  heart  of  the  hive, 
.  to  render  it  tolerable  for  the  little  ones  dreaming 
in  their  cells  against  a  day  of  awakening,  and  for  our 
precious  Queen-Mother,  brooding  through  her  watches 
without  end. 

Late  in  the  night  the  air  grew  chilly,  and  one  by 
one  we  drifted  inside.  I  had  been  one  of  the  first,  for 

74 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

I  bethought  me  of  Crip,  whom  I  had  left  disconsolate 
and  battered  from  his  fight  with  the  worm.  Returning 
to  our  old  haunt,  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Then 
I  went  to  the  spot  of  the  combat  and  there  he  was, 
more  or  less  chilled  and  still  sore  from  the  loss  of  his  leg. 

"I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me,"  was  his  greeting. 

"I  forget  you?  Not  while  I  live.  I  was  outside  in 
the  night." 

"And  the  south  wind  blew?  And  there  were 
stars?"  he  asked.  "I  want  to  look  upon  them  once 
more.  Help  me,  for  I  can  only  crawl  now.  My  body 
can  scarcely  be  carried  by  those  four  little  legs,  all 
that  I  have  left.  I  don't  know  how  soon  I  shall  be 
done  for,  and  then — and  then — " 

He  struggled  pitifully  in  order  to  reach  the  front. 
Try  as  I  might,  I  could  be  of  no  assistance  to  him. 
But  by  dintof  perseverance  he  finally  gained  the  thresh- 
old and  gazed  into  the  night.  The  moon  had  drifted 
far  toward  the  west,  and  already  the  morning  star 
shone  with  transcendent  brilliancy.  The  south  wind 
breathed  ever  so  softly  through  the  chaparral,  as  it 
made  its  way  to  some  hidden  goal;  and  near  the  bor- 
ders of  the  lake  a  coyote,  in  staccato  treble,  gave 
warning  that  the  dawn  was  near. 

Crip  said  nothing,  nor  did  I.  How  useless  are  words 
when  there  is  perfect  understanding.  He  came  close 
to  me,  however,  and  put  his  face  as  near  mine  as  he 
might,  as  though  he  wished  to  look  into  •  the  very 
depths  of  my  eyes. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said.    "I  know." 

Then  he  turned  and  dragged  himself  into  the  hive. 
I  followed  closely.  How  sad  it  was  to  see  so  great  a 

75 


HAPPY 

soul  chained  in  so  broken  a  body.  I  stayed  by  him, 
cheering  him  and  encouraging  him,  until  the  bugle  of 
the  morning  sounded. 

"Now  you  must  go,"  he  commanded.  "You  have 
your  work  to  do.  Mine  is  nearly  finished." 

I  took  a  turn  in  the  fields,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
report,  save  the  discovery  that  the  white  brush  was 
ready  to  bloom,  and  that  the  sage-brush  and  the 
broomweed  promised  honey. 

Again,  for  a  number  of  days  there  was  little  to  do. 
Toward  the  noon  hour  the  September  sun  blazed  with 
midsummer  intensity  and  the  winds  were  stifling. 
This  meant  that  a  deal  of  water  was  consumed.  I  was 
assigned  to  help.  So,  back  and  forth  to  the  lake  I 
went,  ever  returning  with  my  sac  filled  to  bursting. 
The  young  bees  clamored  for  water,  and  it  was  a  de- 
light to  see  them  scramble  for  a  drink.  Again,  the 
front  of  the  hive  was  packed  with  bees  idling  their 
day  away,  if,  indeed,  it  can  be  said  that  they  were  idle 
when  there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 

Another  night  passed  as  before  and  still  another  day. 
Then  the  news  resounded  over  the  hive  that  the  white 
brush  was  opening  and  that  honey  was  in  the  field! 
There  -was  only  the  meagerest  supply  the  first  day, 
but  hungry  tongues  searched  out  the  white  tiny  bell- 
shaped  flowers.  The  next  day  the  flow  was  heavier, 
and  the  third  day  we  began  to  carry  such  quantities 
that  the  colony  began  *to  develop  a  sort  of  delirium. 
Every  nook  and  cranny  was  being  filled,  when  a  strange 
sound  echoed  over  the  hive. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  I  queried  of  Buzz-Buzz. 

"I  don't  know.     Let's  find  Crip.     He  can  tell  us." 
76 


CliAPTEfcTHlRIEEN 
The  Swarming  Ever 


E  found  him  at  once.  "What 
does  this  mean?"  I  cried. 

1 '  It  means, ' '  said  he, ' '  that, 
late   as   the   season   is,  the 
swarming   fever   has   seized 
the  colony." 

"Why?"  we  cried. 

"Well,  we  have  so  much  honey  and  there  is  so 
much  in  the  field  and  the  colony  so  strong,  it  can 
easily  spare  a  force  of  pioneers  to  begin  a  new  colony. 
Here  is  the  working  out  of  destiny  controlling  the  very 
life  of  the  bee." 

Crip  spoke  enthusiastically,  and  both  Buzz-Buzz 
and  I  were  fascinated  by  his  story. 

The  first  thing  I  knew  I,  also,  was  seized  with  the 
6  77 


HAPPY 

enthusiasm.  Queen -cells  had  been  started — half  a 
dozen  at  least.  I  laid  hold  and  helped  draw  out  the 
comb  to  build  up  a  huge  cell,  where,  in  the  mysterious 
processes  of  time,  a  Queen  would  appear! 

Almost  against  her  wishes,  the  Queen-Mother  de- 
posited eggs  in  the  various  cells  and  began,  under  mild 
protest,  to  expand  her  brood-cHamber  in  anticipation 
of  the  promised  exodus  of  her  children.  While  she 
did  not  fear  that  enough  would  go  to  imperil  the  exist- 
ence of  her  own  colony,  she  doubted  the  wisdom  of  the 
enterprise.  She  discouraged  in  every  way  possible 
the  ardor  of  the  workers  who  continued  to  bring  in 
honey  until  there  was  no  longer  space  to  store  it.  In- 
deed, they  crowded  the  Queen  so  that  she  was  driven 
to  despair.  The  very  space  she  had  set  aside  for  her 
brood-chamber  'for  the  winter  was  encroached  upon 
and  heaped  with  bread  and  honey,  but  for  the  nonce 
there  was  no  stopping  them. 

Crip  said:  '-You  are  crazy;  it  is  too  late  in  the 
season  to  swarm;  it  means  extinction." 

But  one  replied:  "It  is  the  law!  There  is  a  chance 
for  the  swarm  to  survive,  and  the  chance  must  be 
taken;  particularly  when  the  parent  colony  shows  its 
ability  to  survive." 

"Truly  said,"  added  Crip.  "I  merely  wanted  to 
find  whether  you  knew  what  the  higher  law  compels." 

But  where  would  the  swarm  begin  a  home?  This 
question  now  began  to  be  asked.  It  seemed  that 
nobody  thought  of  the  great  Master  who  sat  for  hours 
under  the  mesquite-tree.  Would  he  not  provide  a 
house? 

The  next  day  Buzz-Buzz  came  to  me,  greatly  excited. 
78 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

"You  and  I  and  others  are  to  go  into  the  woods  and 
search  for  a  home  for  the  swarm!" 

That  was  the  order.     It  was  enough — we  went. 

We  seemed  to  know  that  the  only  place  to  look  for 
a  home  was  among  the  great  oaks  that  bordered  the 
lake,  and  thither  we ;  betook  ourselves.  We  flew  from 
tree  to  tree,  exploring  every  hole  we  could  find  in  the 
hope  of  discovering  a  hollow  big  enough  to  house  a 
swarm.  Three  days  we  spent  in  vain.  On  the  fourth 
we  found  one,  and  with  great  joy  we  returned  home 
and  reported.  Immediately  a  hundred  bees  or  more 
were  assigned  to  prepare  the  hollow  tree  for  a  habita- 
tion. Buzz-Buzz  and  I  led  the  way  back,  and  all 
hands  fell  to  cleaning  out  the  cobwebs  and  the  de*bris 
of  decayed  wood.  Several  days  were  spent  in  this 
undertaking,  and  finally  the  word  was  passed  that 
the  new  home  was  ready. 

But  things  were  not  ready  with  the  parent  colony. 
No  Queen  had  emerged  from  her  cell.  From  hour  to 
hour  the  bees  marched  by  impatiently,  waiting  for  the 
"click-click"  of  her  mandibles  and  for  sight  of  them 
piercing  the  wax  door  to  the  cell.  And  there  was  much 
speculation  as  to  which  of  the  half-dozen  possible 
Queens  would  first  emerge.  Finally,  one  day,  at  high 
noon,  the  rumor  ran  over  the  hive  that  a  Queen  had 
been  born,  and  the  excitement  became  intense.  "A 
Queen!  A  Queen!" 

Crip  and  I  forced  our  way  through  the  crush  to  the 
spot  where  the  Queen  was  surrounded  by  a  joyous 
multitude.  He,  finally,  on  account  of  his  lameness, 
was  compelled  to  abandon  his  efforts  to  pay  his  homage 
to  the  new-born  mother.  But  I,  nothing  daunted, 

79 


HAPPY 

persisted,  and  presently  came  near  enough  to  feel  her 
presence.  I,  too,  sang  fervently,  for  a  new  hope  had 
risen.  Soon  in  the  vast  forest  of  the  world  a  new 
colony  would  be  planted  to  aid  in  carrying  on  the 
eternal  work  of  the  bee. 

At  another  corner  of  the  hive  I  heard  a  different 
sound.  It  was  the  wail  of  a  Queen  that  was  being 
destroyed.  I  hurried  toward  her,  but  somehow  felt 
no  pity  for  her.  A  great  cluster  of  bees  completely 
enveloped  her;  this  was  the  mode  of  taking  the  royal 
life.  All  the  remaining  cells  with  their  occupants  had 
been  cut  down,  and  soon  there  remained  in  all  the 
hive  but  the  one  mother  and  the  one  daughter.  I  came 
upon  the  destroyed  cells,  torn  and  empty,  and  could 
not  help  mourning  the  death  of  the  royal  creatures 
they  had  housed.  Perhaps  there  had  been  but  min- 
utes between  the  births  of  the  Queens,  but  those 
minutes  had  been  fatal  to  the  last. 

Preparations  went  steadily  on  for  the  day  of  the 
exodus.  The  new  Queen  took  her  first  flight  suc- 
cessfully; and  then  came  the  mating!  Only  a  few 
drones  had  been  permitted  to  escape  the  massacre 
of  a  month  earlier  —  tolerated  on  the  chance  of  a 
lost  or  a  dead  Queen — borne  with  against  a  belated 
mating. 

"How  wonderful,"  Crip  observed,  ''that  these 
things  should  be  provided  for — and  how  close  are  life 
and  death!" 

It  was  a  hot  afternoon  when  the  time  came  for  the 
nuptial  flight,  and  it  lacked  the  wild  glamour  of  an 
earlier  one  that  I  had  witnessed.  On  the  first  occasion 
there  were  literally  thousands  of  drones  that  went 


THE   LIFE   OF  A    BEE 

up  toward  the  heavens  in  search  of  the  one  radiant 
thing  in  the  world.  And  they  had  all  returned  save 
one  immortal,  who  had  found  and  won  the  Queen, 
only  to  lose  his  life!  Compared  with  the  first  flight, 
this  last  seemed  commonplace.  I  should  have  fore- 
gone the  opportunity  of  witnessing  the  thin  proces- 
sion, bound  on  the  momentous  journey  of  uniting  two 
lives,  so  that  the  thread  of  existence  might  not  be 
cut  short  for  the  bee. 

I  groped  about  impatiently,  awaiting  news  of  the 
bridal  party.  It  was  not  long  delayed,  for  soon  there 
were  sounds  of  rejoicing  throughout  the  hive;  and 
now  the  last  preparations  had  been  ended  and  the 
day  was  at  hand  for  the  great  adventure. 

Round  and  round  the  hive  went  the  signal  that  on 
the  morrow  the  swarm  should  go  forth  to  its  home  in 
the  woods.  Quietly  and  with  no  bickerings,  the  tallies 
were  laid — this  one  should  go,  this  one  should  stay — 
there  was  in  no  case  dispute  or  contest.  Each  bee 
accepted  the  issue  with  all  the  grace  of  a  fatalist.  I 
was  one  of  them. 

Really,  I  was  greatly  disappointed  not  to  have  been 
chosen  to  go,  for  I  had  been  one  of  the  pioneers  and 
had  helped  find  and  prepare  the  new  home  in  the  live- 
oak  by  the  clear  waters  of  the  beautiful  lake.  It 
was  a  bitter  disappointment,  but  I  uttered  no  word  of 
complaint.  When  I  came  up  with  Crip  I  found  he,  too, 
had  been  left  behind. 

"Why  shouldn't  we  have  been  chosen  to  go?"  I 
asked,  somewhat  downcast. 

"I  am  too  old — too  useless,"  Crip  answered.  "You 
are  young  and  brave  enough,  but  battles  are  to  be 

81 


HAPPY 

fought  here  as  well  as  yonder.     And  some  of  the  strong 
and  gallant  had  need  to  remain." 

Something  in  Crip's  look  and  tone  struck  me.  Was 
I  too  old  to  go?  Had  that  been  the  reason?  I  had 
heard  a  cry  over  the  hive  that  only  young  bees  should 
go,  for  there  would  be  small  hope  of  raising  much  of 
a  brood  in  the  new  colony  through  the  winter.  If  it 
could  build  comb  enough  and  gather  sufficient  honey 
to  feed  itself,  it  would  be  fortunate. 

So,  I  was  not  young  enough.  Until  then  I  had  not 
thought  of  my  age;  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  still 
as  active  as  on  the  day  I  flew  into  the  sky. 

As  for  Crip,  "too  useless"  seemed  a  cruel  phrase. 
For  who  could  say  what  was  the  worth  of  his  stores  of 
knowledge?  But  I  could  see  that  he  moved  more 
feebly  from  day  to  day. 

"Only  the  strong  are  to  be  chosen — the  fit?  Crip, 
that  bears  hard  on  us." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  replied,  cheerily.  "Take 
courage;  that  is  the  way  of  things  in  the  world  of 
the  bee." 

Then  he  added  that  it  would  be  a  hard  battle  to 
build  a  home  in  the  short  space  of  time  allotted  and 
to  store  food  enough  to  last  through  the  winter.  It 
meant  a  fight,  for  already  the  glimmerings  of  the  fall 
were  upon  us!  Pale  shadows  of  color  began  to  stain 
the  leaves,  and  the  flowers  turned  their  faces  more 
wistfully  each  day  to  the  sun.  Still,  the  bees  would 
go.  There  was  no  denying  the  operation  of  the  law, 
which  commanded  that  the  chance  be  taken.  The 
whole  law  of  survival  was  involved — and  there  was 
none  to  deny  it. 

82 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

So,  all  night  long  murmurings  and  vague  discontents 
and  forebodings  and  anticipations  ran  through  the 
hive.  Those  marked  so  mysteriously  to  go  realized 
that  their  lives  were  at  stake  and  likely  to  be 
lost.  Yet  each  one  in  the  hive  would  have  gone. 
It  was  not  until  late  that  I  learned  that  our  own 
mother,  my  mother,  the  mother  of  the  hive,  was 
to  go  away,  leaving  her  daughter  to  preside  over 
the  destinies  of  the  old.  Here,  too,  Crip  was  wont 
to  philosophize. 

"You  see,  our  mother  is  not  young,"  he  began.  "If 
she  should  perish  in  the  stress  of  the  winter  and  the 
new  colony  be  lost,  it  would  be  less  grievous  than  the 
loss  of  this  new,  vigorous  Queen.  Besides,  our  mother 
has  had  experience.  She  has  lived  over  one  winter. 
She  knows  how  much  of  a  brood  to  rear  to  maintain 
the  strength  of  the  colony — or  whether  she  dare  rear 
any  at  all — bearing  in  mind  the  while  that  there  must 
be  a  fine  adjustment  between  the  mouths  to  be  fed 
and  the  total  of  supplies.  She  knows  well  how  to  keep 
this  account.  Last  winter,  I  am  told,  our  stores  ran 
low,  so  low,  in  fact,  that  many  of  our  brothers  sac- 
rificed their  lives  in  order  to  conserve  the  supplies  so 
as  to  bring  the  Queen-Mother  with  a  few  attendants 
through  the  long,  bitter  winter.  Not  a  young  bee  was 
reared  until  the  first  flowers  had  come  riotously  tramp- 
ling on  the  skirts  of  the  frost.  So,  you  see,  they  know 
best.  She  will  lead  the  swarm,  and  perhaps,  if  the 
season  is  late,  and  the  frost  slow  to  come,  they  can 
build  their  combs  and  store  sufficient  honey  to  bring 
them  through.  Perhaps  even  spring  may  come  to 
their  rescue,  blossoming  early.  A  late,  backward 

83 


HAPPY 

spring,  however,  might  end  them,  even  if  they  had 
escaped  the  fury  of  the  winter." 

There  seemed  no  end  to  Crip's  knowledge.  Lying 
there  on  the  comb,  he  looked  pathetically  helpless,  and 
there  was  a  quaver  in  his  voice.  I  could  see  that  he 
was  reflecting — that  age  had  dropped  upon  him  heavily 
on  account  of  his  wounds.  Then,  stoic  that  he  was,  I 
knew  that  some  morning  I  should  search  in  vain  for 
trace  of  him.  Once  a  bee  becomes  useless,  he  said, 
there  is  but  one  thing  for  him  to  do.  I  knew  that 
Crip  was  already  contemplating  the  end.  Bitterness 
for  a  moment  welled  up  in  me  at  the  thought  that 
so  much  wisdom  should  be  lost — and  so  soon.  That 
was  the  edict.  But,  after  all,  was  the  wisdom  really 
lost? 

Our  talk  was  broken  at  length  by  the  call  of  the 
morning.  The  first  pale  gleams  of  light  filtered  through 
the  entrance  of  the  hive.  Already  there  were  mur- 
murings  and  presently  the  faint  note  of  the  swarm. 

Two  hours  passed — three  hours — and  now  the  trum- 
pet sounded  for  the  flight.  Each  of  the  chosen  rushed 
to  the  nearest  cell  and  filled  his  sac  to  its  utmost 
capacity.  Some  early-returning  foragers,  laden  with 
pollen,  heard  the  signal  and  made  ready  to  go,  carrying 
with  them  their  loads.  Stores  must  be  taken  along 
to  last  until  comb  was  built  and  new  supplies  gath- 
ered from  the  fields.  Rations  for  three  or  four  days 
were  thus  provided.  When  all  was  ready  the  trumpet 
sounded  again  and  the  march  began.  In  the  fore 
went  the  scouts  who'were  to  lead  the  way  to  the  new 
home.  Then,  following  after,  came  the  chosen  ones 
in  a  mighty  multitude,  and  lastly  the  Queen, 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

Out  into  the  air 'they  flew,  then  round  and  round, 
each  one  singing  the  Song  of  the  Swarm,  which  could 
be  heard  afar  off.  Round  and  round  in  a  dizzy  circle 
they  flew,  but  in  an  ever-widening  whirl.  The  scouts, 
I  could  hear  from  my  point  of  vantage  at  the  door, 
were  becoming  impatient.  The  Queen  had  been  de- 
layed, and  until  word  of  her  presence  among  them 
was  spoken,  they  could  only  circle  about.  Or  else, 
failing  that  word,  they  could  and  would  return  to  the 
hive.  But  at  the  height  of  their  impatience  the  glad 
word  came,  "The  Queen  is  here!" 

Then  they  delayed  no  longer,  but  started  in  a  whirl- 
wind flight  toward  the  lake  and  to  their  new  home, 
uttering,  as  they  drew  away,  that  marvelously  wild  and 
moving  song  which  pulsed  with  the  tremors  of  life  and 
death.  • 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 


CLIP  and   I    were   sober    and    silent. 
Prom    the    alighting  -  board    we 
watched   them   draw  away  and    dis- 
appear, and  were  on  the  eve  of  turn- 
ing into  the  hive,  when  up  came  the  Master  breath- 
lessly.    He  stopped  and  gazed  at  the  retreating  cloud, 
knowing  too  well  what  had  happened.     He  knew,  too, 
by  their  actions,  that  a  home  had  been  prepared  for 
their  reception.     He  seemed  surprised  to  think  that 
the  bees  should  swarm  so  late  in  the  season,  and  not 
a  little  chagrined  to  think  they  could  have  done  it 
under  his  eyes.     His  curiosity  at  once  led  him  to  find 
whence  the  swarm  had  come,  and  he  walked  straight 

86 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

to  our  hive.  A  few  excited  bees  were  still  flying  back 
and  forth,  but  Crip  and  I,  like  the  condemned,  stood 
stolidly  and  wondered. 

His  lips  moved,  but  he  said  no  word;  he  turned  on 
his  heels  and  went  away. 

Shortly,  however,  he  returned,  the  little  Shadow 
with  him.  They  were  talking  of  the  swarming,  for 
he  pointed  the  way  the  bees  had  gone.  In  his  hand 
he  held  that  horrid  smoking  thing,  and  Crip  and  I 
both  knew  what  that  meant.  He  would  open  our 
house.  I  resented  this,  for  I  remembered  the  smoke 
in  my  eyes  when  he  took  the  top  off  our  hive  and  lifted 
out  frame  after  frame,  taking  away  from  us  part  of 
our  honey.  I  remembered,  too,  how  I  longed  to  sting 
him,  but  how  all  my  efforts  were  unavailing,  for  he  had 
hidden  himself  under  a  screen.  And  yet  I  really  did 
not  want  to  sting  him.  Just  why  I  flew  at  him  I  could 
not  understand. 

"He  is  angry  with  us  now,"  said  Crip.  "He  knows 
we  are  insane.  He  probably  will  take  away  our  honey 
and  leave  us  to  starve,  as  we  merit.  We  have  proven 
our  short-sightedness  and  have  lost  our  right  to  sur- 
vive." 

"No,  he  will  not  do  that,"  I  replied. 

On  the  instant  I  seemed  no  longer  to  distrust  him; 
I  remembered  his  kindness  to  me  on  a  day  when, 
overladen,  a  gust  of  wind  had  felled  me  to  the  earth. 
He  had  placed  me  on  a  twig,  where,  after  disgorging 
part  of  my  load,  and  washing  my  body  and  my  wings, 
I  again  made  way  to  my  home. 

But  it  was  certain  that  we  should  know  his  intentions 
shortly,  for,  on  coming  close,  he  sent  a  puff  of  smoke 

87 


HAPPY 

into  the  entrance  that  choked  and  blinded  both  Crip 
and  me  and  the  guards,  and  sent  us  scurrying  into  the 
hive.  Then,  passing  the  smoker  to  the  Little  Master, 
he  carefully  lifted  off  the  top  and  the  upper  section  of 
our  hive,  and  began  an  inspection  of  the  brood-cham- 
ber. He  seemed  to  be  right  happy  at  discovering  that 
the  queen-cells  had  been  destroyed,  which  carried  the 
assurance  to  his  mind  that  no  further  swarming  was 
in  contemplation;  but  when  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  new 
Queen-Mother,  they  widely  distended  and  a  smile  of 
joy  lighted  his  face. 

"  Wonderful  creature,"  he  murmured. 

The  little  Shadow  cried:  "Let  me  see.  Isn't  she  a 
beauty!" 

By  this  time  the  smoke  had  cleared  away  and  my 
disposition  had  changed.  I  said  to  Crip  that  we  ought 
to  attack  them.  But  he  answered  that  it  would  be 
folly  now — that  only  evil  would  result.  Further  par- 
leying was  cut  short  by  a  blast  of  smoke  shot  at  us 
by  the  Little  Master,  who  apparently  had  discerned 
outward  signs  of  the  rebellion,  for  my  body  was  poised 
and  I  suppose  I  must  have  been  emitting  the  note  of 
anger.  The  smoke  sent  us  all  flying  into  a  remote 
corner  of  the  hive. 

Then  the  Master  replaced  the  section  of  hive  he  had 
removed,  and  began  to  lift  frame  after  frame,  uttering 
little  exclamations,  as  though  he  had  not  suspected 
that  we  had  gathered  such  quantities  of  honey  in  so 
short  and  late  a  season.  It  was  easy  for  him  now  to 
understand  why  we  had  developed  the  swarming  fever, 
although  it  evidently  appeared  to  him  a  foolish  ad- 
venture. 

88 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

"He  has  been  dreaming  in  his  rose-garden,"  com- 
mented Crip,  when  the  Master  had  nearly  finished  his 
examination.  "That  is  the  reason  he  has  neglected 
us  of  late.  He  did  not  know  there  had  been  a  great 
flow  of  honey." 

We  were  talking  among  ourselves,  when  up  came 
Buzz-Buzz,  angry  from  the  smoke  in  his  eyes. 

"A  fine  lot  this  fellow,"  he  growled. 

"You  don't  like  him?"  I  asked. 

He  just  looked  at  us.     He  was  too  irritated  to  speak. 

"He'll  get  over  it,"  mused  Crip. 

We  were  still  holding  converse  when  again  the  top 
came  off  and  one  by  one  the  Master  lifted  out  our 
combs  and  robbed  them  of  their  honey.  They  were 
battered  and  broken  and  empty  when  he  restored 
them  to  us.  We  were  all  infuriated,  and  for  a  while 
flew  madly  about  him  and  about  the  Little  Master — 
the  dog  kept  at  a  respectful  distance — straining  every 
effort  to  drive  them  away.  But  the  Little  One  only 
smoked  us  the  more,  while  the  Master  went  on  with 
his  work.  He  was  careful  to  kill  no  bee,  brushing  off 
every  one  of  them  before  taking  away  the  combs  of 
honey,  and  while  returning  them. 

Quickly  it  was  all  over.  When  he  had  gone  we  at 
once  took  stock  and  found  that  he  had  left  us  quite 
enough  to  carry  us  through  the  winter,  barring  acci- 
dent. But  almost  before  the  appraisal  had  been  made 
a  catastrophe  was  upon  us.  The  honey  from  a  broken 
comb  had  flooded  the  bottom-board,  and  began  to 
pour  out  through  the  entrance  onto  the  ground,  and 
robber  bees  were  shortly  upon  it.  We  summoned  all 
our  guards  fpr  our  protection,  but  the  robbers  in 

89 


HAPPY 

thousands  came,  and  in  spite  of  our  resistance  they 
forced  their  way  into  the  hive  and  began  to  plunder  at 
random.  Poor  old  Crip  even  mixed  in  the  melee, 
fighting  like  a  veteran,  while  I,  beaten  and  trampled, 
finally  lay  senseless  on  the  floor. 

We  should  have  been  lost  but  for  the  thoughtfulness 
of  the  Master,  who,  returning  to  see  that  all  was  well, 
found  us  besieged  and  overrun.  He  quietly  closed  the 
entrance  to  our  hive,  and  thus  left  us  to  clear  it  of  the 
marauders  within  doors,  which  we  did  promptly,  al- 
though at  heavy  cost  in  the  lives  of  our  brothers.  An 
hour  later  he  returned  and  opened  ever  so  slightly  our 
door.  Although  a  few  robbers  still  lingered  and  en- 
deavored to  force  an  entrance,  they  were  easily  beaten 
off.  In  the  mean  time  we  carefully  cleaned  up  the 
spilled  honey  which  had  nearly  been  our  undoing — 
and  the  battle  was  over. 

The  night  came  and  we  cleared  our  house  of  the 
dead.  Scattered  indiscriminately  they  lay — friend  and 
foe — many  score  of  them.  Among  them  I  found  the 
veteran  who  had  been  kind  to  me,  with  the  mark  of 
a  lance  in  his  breast.  Certain  it  was  that  he  had  died 
fighting  bravely.  I  had  found  his  body,  and  I  deter- 
mined to  keep  it  by  me  through  the  night,  and  on  the 
morrow  I  meant  to  give  a  fitting  burial.  I  remem- 
bered a  high  knoll  overlooking  the  lake  and  the 
country  round  about,  and  there  I  said  he  should  be 
laid  to  rest.  I  told  Crip  of  my  purpose,  and  he  ap- 
plauded me,  and  together  we  watched  over  him. 
More  than  once  we  almost  had  to  fight  to  prevent 
the  cleaners  from  taking  his  body  away. 

On  the  morrow,  in  the  early  dawn,  I  dragged  him 
90 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

forth  and,  taking  him  in  my  mandibles,  flew  away 
with  him,  dropping  him  on  the  knoll.  The  poor  old 
veteran!  Somehow  I  had  gained  the  notion  that 
one  day  he  would  awake,  and  from  that  vantage-point 
find  himself  nearer  the  stars. 

We  now  began  another  chapter  in  the  life  of  our 
colony.  We  were  left  with  none  too  much  honey,  and, 
besides,  our  numbers  had  been  greatly  'depleted  by 
the  exodus  and  by  the  assault  of  the  robbers.  Our 
Queen-Mother  immediately  organized  her  followers 
and  sent  us  all  scouring  the  fields  for  additional  foods. 
Thanks  to  the  late  season,  there  still  remained  an 
abundant  harvest.  Soon  we  had  replenished  our  sup- 
plies to  a  point  where  we  could  rest  comfortably,  and 
our  good  mother  set  about  rearing  just  enough  brood 
to  have  us  weather  the  winter  safely.  But  we  never 
stopped  work.  Day  after  day  we  gathered  bread  and 
honey. 

"We  cannot  have  too  much,"  said  Crip.  "You 
see,  since  you  have  not  gone  through  a  winter  you 
have  much  to  learn.  It  is  no  simple  business.  Fright- 
ful northers  sweep  down  upon  us  and  chill  us  and  kill 
us.  Sometimes  it  grows  so  cold  the  young  bees  are 
frozen  in  their  cells.  They  must  then  be  removed,  or 
else  sickness  and  disease  will  follow.  Sometimes,  too, 
if  stores  run  low  and  our  numbers  fall  below  a  certain 
point,  we  ourselves  can  no  longer  keep  warm.  That 
means  death  for  us  all." 

"But  we  have  plenty  of  stores,"  I  replied.  "We 
have  nothing  to  fear." 

"There  are  always  fears.  An  animal  running  wild 
may  topple  over  your  house;  a  bad  man  may  slip  in 

91 


HAPPY 

and  steal  your  supplies;  a  moth  may  enter  and  lay 
eggs  producing  destructive  worms;  a  bear  may  chance 
to  find  you  and  with  his  great  paws  rend  the  hive 
asunder!" 

"Stop!"  I  cried.  "If  there  are  yet  other  dangers, 
I  do  not  wish  to  know  them." 

"But  it  is  well  to  know.  There  are  diseases  to  com- 
bat, such  as  dysentery,  paralysis,  and  foul  brood — 

"Oh,  stop!"  I  begged  him. 

Was  life  really  such  a  hazard?  so  perilous  a  journey? 
And  all  for  what?  Toward  what  misty  goal? 

It  was  a  glorious  day  in  October.  The  Indian  sum- 
mer had  come,  flooding  all  the  hills  and  vales  with  its 
magical  sheets  of  amethyst,  while  a  drowsy  wind 
from  the  south  bore  on  its  breath  the  odor  of  autumn. 
Now  and  then  that  indefinable  note,  presaging  the 
advent  of  winter — a  note  wiiich  is  neither  a  requiem 
nor  a  dirge — could  be  heard  like  a  faint  flute  in  the 
branches  of  the  trees.  The  sun  shone  big  and  round 
and  still  with  a  suggestion  of  summer.  Scattered 
'clouds  went  drifting  lazily  by,  wonderfully  emphasiz- 
ing the  turquoise  blue  of  the  sky. 

"Is  it  going  to  rain?"  I  asked  of  Crip,  who  was  drag- 
ging himself  along  on  the  alighting-board,  ready  for  a 
new  excursion  into  the  woods. 

"No,"  he  mumbled. 

It  had  been  weeks  since  my  experience  in  the  flood, 
but  ever  after  that  when  a  cloud  was  in  the  sky  I 
bethought  me  of  rain.  But  I  had  now  come  to  know 
that  rains  were  something  more  than  clouds. 

Crip  and  I  had  been  laboring  to  fill  adjoining  cells. 
We  had  already  gathered  many  loads  of  honey  that  day. 

92 


THE    LIFE    OF    A    BEE 

"I'm  tired,"  he  said,  right  plaintively.  "I  can't  do 
as  much  as  I  could  once." 

"Why  don't  you  rest?"  I  begged  of  him.   , 

"Rest!  What  word  is  that?  Did  ever  a  bee  rest 
when  there  was  work  to  do?" 

With  that  he  hobbled  a  little  farther  on  his  four  legs, 
his  poor  old  body  half  carried  and  half  dragged.  But 
his  wings  were  still  powerful  and  lifted  him  instantly 
into  the  all-absorbing  space. 

This  time  I  took  an  entirely  different  direction 
from  any  I  had  thus  far  traveled.  On  and  on  I  flew, 
mile  after  mile,  until  presently  I  scented  something 
and  went  for  it.  It  proved  to  be  a  field  of  June  corn, 
in  silk  and  tassel — and,  oh,  what  quantities  of  pollen ! 
I  gathered  a  little  and  hastened  back  to  report.  Almost 
at  once  a  string  of  my  brothers  were  flying  to  and 
fro,  laden  with  bread. 

We  had  now  stored  up  a  great  surplus  of  food,  and 
the  Queen-Mother  broadened  her  brood  areas.  She 
deemed  it  wise  to  enlarge  her  family ;  first,  because  she 
had  a  premonition  that  a  wild  winter  would  soon 
break  upon  us,  and,  for  the  further  reason,  that  half 
the  battle  was  to  be  strong  in  numbers  in  the  spring, 
when  the  honey-fountains  opened. 

When  I  returned  with  my  last  load,  well  toward 
sunset,  I  found  Crip  waiting  at  our  rendezvous,  my 
ancient  cell. 

"You  have  done  well  to-day,"  he  said,  "and  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  so.  Five  miles  is  a  long  journey  to 
go  for  a  load,  but  it  was  worth  it.  I,  too,  made  one 
trip — but  have  pity  on  me — only  when  I  got  there  did 
I  remember  that  I  had  no  basket-legs;  hence  I  was 

7  93 


HAPPY 

forced  to  return  empty-handed.  It  is  too  much  for 
me  to  bear.  I  am  old  and  useless." 

I  could  not  stand  to  hear  him  depreciate  himself,  in 
such  fashion,  and  remonstrated  with  him. 

"Well,  it's  too  true,"  he  persisted.  "Some  day  you 
will  understand." 


DID  not  answer  Crip,  for  at  the 
moment  I  was  notified  that  I 
should  take  my  turn  at  guard 
duty,  and  I  went  at  once  to  re- 
port. 

It  was  now  fast  growing  dark,  and  the  last  workers 
were  dropping  on  the  alighting-board  and  groping  their 
way  into  the  hive.  It  was  the  duty  of  guards  to  inspect 
all  who  entered,  and  to  keep  out  bugs  and  ants  and  in- 
truders. More  than  a  score  of  guards,  I  among  them, 

95 


HAPPY 

kept  a  continuous  patrol  before  the  entrance;  and  all 
went  well  until  far  into  the  night. 

The  Master  with  his  little  Shadow  had  passed  among 
us  as  if  to  bid  us  good  night,  and  had  gone.  The  moon 
was  now  rising,  and  a  mocking-bird  in  a  neighboring 
tree  had  been  rendering  melodies  without  number. 
There  was  no  sound  in  all  the  world  save  the  mocking- 
bird's song  that  ebbed  and  flowed  in  ever  wilder 
cadence.  High  above  his  perch  he  would  soar  into 
the  moonlight,  and  as  he  dropped  again — his  little 
gray  body  looking  like  a  bit  of  mist — he  would  almost 
burst  his  throat  with  rapturous  song.  Often  had  I 
heard  him  sing,  but  never  had  he  so  completely  aban- 
doned himself  to  the  sheer  frenzy  of  it — and  at  such 
an  hour! 

"He's  making  the  best  of  it,  for  soon  the  winter 
will  come  and  his  songs  will  cease,"  observed  a  guard. 

"But  what  glorious  singing!"  added  another. 

While  we  were  talking  a  guard  suddenly  gave  an 
alarm.  He  had  either  scented  or  seen  an  enemy; 
but  doubt  was  immediately  removed,  for  the  raw  smell 
of  an  animal  was  borne  in  to  us.  We  paused  and  pre- 
pared for  an  attack.  Our  wings  were  buzzing  at  inter- 
vals and  our  stings  were  ready  to  strike.  And  none 
too  soon,  for  in  a  moment  more  a  monstrous  ani- 
mal stuck  his  nose  into  the  entrance  of  our  hive.  In- 
stantly we  all  flew  at  him,  some  landing  in  his  face  and 
some  on  his  body.  But  only  those  that  struck  his  face 
succeeded  in  stinging  him,  for  the  hair  was  too  long  on 
his  body. 

I  was  unfortunate  enough  to  have  been  one  of  those 
landing  on  his  back,  and  immediately  found  myself 

96 


THE   LIFE  OF  A   BEE 

so  entangled  in  his  hair  that  I  could  neither  sting  him 
nor  free  myself.  I  struggled  in  vain,  and  my  efforts 
were  rendered  more  difficult  on  account  of  the  mad 
capers  he  cut  in  escaping  from  the  spot.  The  moment 
we  flew  at  him  and  stung  him  about  the  head,  he  turned 
somersaults  and  cried  like  a  cat  in  torment,  while  he 
fled  madly.  So  wildly  did  he  fly  that  he  banged  square- 
ly into  a  neighboring  hive  and  nearly  upset  it.  Then 
he  collided  with  weeds  and  brush  and  cacti — in  fact,  I 
now  suspect  he  could  see  nothing.  Certainly  he  cared 
not  what  lay  in  his  road. 

I  can  think  of  it  calmly,  now  that  I  am  safely  back, 
but  while  I  rode  unwillingly  upon  his  back  I  thought 
each  instant  would  be  my  last.  After  vainly  trying 
to  reach  his  body  in  order  to  sting  him,  I  gave  over 
and  endeavored  to  free  myself.  What  with  the  buzz- 
ing of  many  pairs  of  wings  in  his  ears,  and  the  pain 
from  the  stings,  he  fled  like  the  wind.  Presently,  how- 
ever, he  stopped  suddenly  and  tried  to  reach  me  with 
his  claws.  Then  he  did  his  best  to  crush  me  with  his 
teeth,  snarling  and  whining  betimes.  He  did  crush 
some  of  my  brother  guards;  but  I  was  just  back  of 
his  ears,  and  he  could  not  reach  me.  However,  I 
may  add  I  almost  wished  he  had,  for  his  breath 
was  horrible.  I  never  could  abide  the  breath  of  any 
living  thing. 

Soon  he  gave  over  and  set  out  running  again  at  top 
speed.  I  had  abandoned  myself  for  lost,  when  a  bush 
scraped  me  out  of  my  entanglement  and  I  fell  half 
dead  to  the  ground.  But  the  would-be  robber  never 
stopped,  for  I  could  hear  the  brush  rattling  in  his  wake. 
He  still  fled  incontinently,  as  though  he  feared  another 

97 


HAPPY 

attack,  as  though  his  very  life  depended  on  his  rate  of 
speed. 

I  lay  there  for  a  moment,  scarcely  able  to  move. 
But  what  could  I  do?  The  moon  was  still  bright,  but 
bright  as  it  was,  the  way  back  home  was  dark.  In- 
stinctively, I  turned  to  a  friendly  bush  and  made  my 
way  to  the  topmost  branch,  and  there  I  planted  my- 
self for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

The^wind  was  blowing  lustily.  I  did  not  like  the 
threshing  back  and  forth  of  the  branches  in  the  gloom, 
with  the  chance  of  being  knocked  off  at  any  moment. 
I  could  not  think  calmly  of  crawling  on  the  ground, 
for  Crip  had  told  me  this  was  a  thing  to  be  avoided  at 
all  hazards.  Scorpions  and  beetles  and  toads  and 
snakes  made  the  night  perilous.  So  I  clung  to  the 
branch  with  all  my  might.  Now  and  again  a  pause 
in  the  wind  would  allow  me  to  look  up  at  the  stars 
through  the  screen  of  leaves — and  how  dear  and  won- 
derful they  were!  Long  ago  I  had  thought  how  beau- 
tiful it  must  be  up  there  in  the  blue  space,  fretted  with 
tiny  lights  no  bigger  than  the  candle  burning  in  the 
window  of  the  Master's  house.  And  even  then,  as  I 
turned,  I  could  see  his  lamp,  and  I  almost  started  to 
fly  toward  it.  There  was  a  fascination  in  its  beams 
which  I  could  scarcely  resist.  Always,  when  on 
guard  duty,  at  any  hour  of  the  night,  I  had  been  able 
to  see  his  light  and  to  hear  the  bark  of  his  dog.  He 
seemed  never  to  sleep — or  if  he  slept  the  lamp  and  the 
dog  kept  watch  over  him. 

The  blustering  wind  finally  had  compassion  on  me 
and  ceased  altogether.  There  came  a.  silence  that  was 
more  than  silence.  I  felt  it  oppressive.  Then,  as  if 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    BEE 

a  pause  had  been  made  for  them,  the  crickets  and 
katydids  began  a  frightful  chattering,  which  was 
punctuated  betimes  by  the  far  hooting  of  an  owl. 
The  air  grew  chilly,  and  I  began  to  feel  cold  and  stiff, 
and  held  none  too  securely  to  my  bush.  It  was  a  for- 
tunate thing,  I  thought,  that  the  wind  had  died  away. 

How  tired  I  was !  This  had  been  one  of  the  hardest 
days  of  my  life.  As  I  reflected  on  it,  it  seemed  very 
long  ago  that  it  began;  and  I  heartily  wished  for  the 
dawn.  I  must  have  drowsed  awhile,  for  when  again 
I  looked  about  me  a  mellow  light  brooded  on  the 
horizon  and  a  great  star  beamed  above  it.  Soon  wide 
streams  of  gold  flowed  across  the  pale-blue  sky,  quench- 
ing the  fires  of  the  stars.  Then,  as  if  in  compensation 
for  their  loss,  fleecy  Gulf  clouds  caught  the  early  rays 
of  the  sun  and  filled  the  world  with  showers  of  rain- 
bow lights. 

Presently  I  could  see  well  enough  to  rise  on  my 
wings,  and  in  spite  of  the  chill  in  the  air,  up  I  went 
until  I  got  my  bearings.  A  strange  fit  seized  me. 
"Fly  to  the  sun!"  I  heard  in  my  ears;  and  off  I  went. 
Up  and  up  I  flew — higher  and  higher — until  below  me 
I  could  scarcely  see  the  white  houses  of  the  apiary 
where  I  lived  and  the  white  house  of  the  Master.  But 
under  me  the  waters  of  Lake  Espantoso  glimmered  like 
a  mirror,  and  in  the  dark  fringe  of  trees  that  bordered 
it  I  remembered  a  swarm  of  my  little  brothers  had 
taken  refuge,  and  I  wondered  how  they  fared.  Far  as 
I  could  see  stretched  the  undulating  hills  over  which 
I  had  flown  in  search  of  treasure — hills  now  clad  in 
their  robes  of  autumn.  A  fragrance  reached  me  at  this 
great  height,  which  came  from  I  knew  not  where, 
v  99 


HAPPY 

I  had  wheeled  about  and  started  home,  when  I 
caught  sight  of  the  Master  wandering  dreamily  in  his 
garden.  Then  immediately  I  knew  that  the  fragrance 
came  from  his  beautiful  roses.  Many  a  time  had  I 
flown  over  the  place,  marveling  at  the  flowers.  Indeed, 
I  had  gathered  honey  from  the  honeysuckle  that 
climbed  on  the  walls  of  his  house  and  from  the  cr£pe- 
myrtle  hard  by.  But  the  roses — ah,  the  roses!  I 
loved  to  drop  into  their  hearts  and  to  breathe  the  sweet 
breath  of  their  lives.  So  again,  without  thinking,  I 
flew  down  and  down  until  I  reached  the  garden  and 
sank  into  a  rose  to  rest.  I  felt  tired,  ever  so  tired. 
When  I  emerged  there  was  the  Master  fondling  a  rose; 
I  circled  slowly  past  him  and  around  him.  He  saw 
me  at  once,  and  a  tender  look  came  into  his  eyes. 
Reluctantly  I  left  him  caressing  his  roses,  and  flew 
rapidly  home. 


CHARTS 


TEEN  TIDINdS 


OF  WOB 


was  still  so  early  that  a  chill  en- 
veloped the  world  and  the  workers 
awaited  the  sun .  I  rushed  to  where 
I  knew  I  should  find  Crip,  and 
breathlessly  began  the  narrative 
of  my  adventure. 

"I  know  just  about  what  happened,"  he  ventured, 
when  he  had  expressed  his  joy  at  seeing  me,  for  he 
knew  that  I  had  been  on  duty  and  that  a  number  of 
the  guards  had  been  lost.  "  I  wept  not  a  little  for  you. 
Yes,  it  was  a  racoon,"  he  repeated.  "You  will  re- 
member I  told  you  about  them.  They  are  crazy  over 
honey." 

He  was  deeply  interested  in  the  account  of  my  mad 
and  unwilling-  ride. 

loi 


HAPPY 

Then  I  told  him  of  my  visit  to  the  garden,  and  of  the 
Master.  He  made  no  reply,  but  presently  asked  : 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  Master?" 

"Little— very  little." 

"Do  you  know  that  lately  I've  been  wondering 
whether  I  have  been  fair  to  him?  Once  I  was  perfectly 
sure  that  he  was  an  enemy  to  be  fought  on  all  oc- 
casions, that  he  made  use  of  us  only  for  selfish  ends. 
Now  I  am  beginning  to  think  I  was  wrong.  While 
he  has  taken  our  honey,  he  has  always  left  us  enough. 
Last  winter,  I  am  told,  he  actually  brought  a  lot  of 
honey  and  gave  it  to  the  colonies  that  had  none. 
Besides,  before  we  came  in  contact  with  men,  we  lived 
in  caves  and  hollow  trees,  exposed  to  all  manner  of 
enemies.  It  is  different  now." 

We  were  still  busy  talking  when  the  signal  for  work 
rang  through  the  hive,  and  both  Crip  and  I  made  our 
way  to  the  front.  And,  as  many  times  before,  we  rose 
from  the  board  together  and  flew  at  once  to  the  field 
of  broomweed.  Side  by  side  we  ranged,  visiting  many 
of  the  tiny  yellow  flowers  ere  we  were  laden.  Every- 
thing was  now  painfully  dry,  and  it  was  all  too  evident 
that  the  honey  flow  was  over.  Try  as  hard  as  we 
might,  we  gathered  only  a  few  loads  a  day.  And 
Crip  remarked  how  short  the  days  were  and  how  far 
into  the  south  the  sun  had  drifted.  Then,  besides, 
we  were  obliged  to  leave  off  earlier,  on  account  of  the 
cold. 

"The  leaves  are  all  turning  red  and  brown  and  yel- 
low," said  Crip,  as  we  flew  homeward.  "This  is  the 
melancholy  time  I've  heard  about.  Even  the  wind 
seems  sad  and  loiters  around  bush  and  tree  as  though 

102 


THE   LIFE   OF   A   BEE 

he  feared  his  caressing  touch  might  hasten  the  down- 
dropping  of  the  stricken  leaves.  Happy,  I'm  sad, 
too." 

I  could  only  answer  him  that  I  of  all  bees  was  one 
of  the  most  unhappy.  And  at  the  moment  I  was 
stricken  with  a  feeling  of  homesickness,  as  though  I, 
too,  were  "bound  on  a  journey  toward  the  setting 
sun,  or  as  though  an  unmeasured  catastrophe  im- 
pended. 

As  we  neared  home  we  saw  the  Master  and  his  little 
Shadow  seated  by  our  hive,  and  near  them,  sprawling 
on  the  ground,  the  faithful  dog.  The  Master  was 
watching  the  incoming  bees.  Well  he  knew  by  the 
burdens  they  bore  the  condition  of  the  fields. 

"The  workers  are  coming  home  very  light,"  remarked 
",he  Shadow.  "Just  a  little  bread." 

"The  season  is  ended,"  murmured  the  Master. 
"Soon  they  will  go  indoors  and  rest  through  the  cold. 
We  must  come  presently  and  take  off  the  empty  up- 
pers, so  as  to  concentrate  the  heat  of  the  cluster.  In 
that  way  they  will  conserve  their  stores.  The  cluster, 
you  know,  son,  is  formed  by  the  bees  covering  over  the 
brood  and  hanging  on  to  one  another  so  as  to  keep 
themselves  and  the  young  bees  warm." 

Crip  and  I  deposited  our  loads  and  then  returned  to 
the  alighting-board,  but  the  speakers  had  gone.  We 
could  hear  the  Master  singing  in  his  garden ;  and  from 
a  mesquite-tree  hard  by  a  mocking-bird  answered  him. 
All  too  soon  he  ceased;  and  the  bird,  after  trilling  a 
few  wild  refrains,  as  though  to  coax  him  to  return, 
dropped  into  silence.  For  a  time  not  a  sound  was 
heard,  then  the  bird  broke  out  again  in  a  most  plain- 

103 


HAPPY 

tive  song.     He  seemed  to  summon  his  phrases  from 
the  depths  of  despair. 

Twilight  had  now  quite  engulfed  the  world.  Crip, 
who  had  been  for  a  time  very  still,  began  to  stir  rest- 
lessly. 

"Happy,  that  is  my  passing  song.  How  could  the 
bird  have  known  that  this  very  night  I  shall  cleave 
the  air  for  the  last  time?  Yes,  I  mean  it.  Please  don't 
interrupt  me.  The  year  has  gone — I  have  done  my 
work.  I  am  a  cripple,  and  my  wings  are  tattered.  I 
shall  be  a  burden,  eating  the  food  that  may  be  needed 
ere  the  harvest  again  is  ripe.  My  time  has  come — and 
I  must  go  into  the  dark.  This  is  the  law.  Why  should 
not  bees  fly  away  and  never  return?  How  much 
grander  to  pass  away  on  the  wing,  hushed  to  sleep  by 
the  stars.  How  poor  a  thing  it  is  to  cling  to  the 
combs  until  death  shall  drag  one  down  to  the  earth, 
there  to  embarrass  one's  brothers. 

"My  work  is  done.  My  body  is  wrecked,  and  the 
golden  call  echoing  from  eternity  is  in  my  ears.  I 
must  go.  You,  Happy,  have  much  to  do  ere  your 
time  shall  come.  But  you  will  face  life  bravely. 

"How  can  I  thank  you  enough  for  having  saved 
my  life?  Do  you  think  I  have  done  well?  Have  I 
worked  faithfully?  Hero,  you  say?  No,  not  a  hero; 
but  I  have  tried  to  do  the  things  that  came  to  my 
hand;  and  that  is  all  that  one  can  do.  That  sums 
up  the  true  meaning  of  life — service  and  duty  done. 

"Hear  the  bird!  What  a  song  for  the  night!  Ah, 
but  what  music  I  shall  hear  soon  when  I  fly  out 
across  the  spaces  of  light!  I  am  ready.  I  love  you. 
Farewell— farewell." 

104 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

Crip  had  turned  about  for  the  last  time,  and  was 
ready  to  go,  when  a  heartrending  cry  woke  the  inner- 
most caverns  of  the  hive.  He  staggered  a  little,  for 
he  knew  its  meaning.  I  stood  puzzled  and  amazed. 

" What  is  it?"  I  begged  of  him. 

"The  worst  of  news — our  Queen  is  dead!"  he  echoed. 

"Let  us  go  to  her  at  once." 

In  we  went,  and  while  I  was  shaken  by  the  news 
which  I  did  not  fully  comprehend,  I  was  sobered  and 
silent.  I  should  probably  have  had  no  thought  of 
death  at  all  had  I  known  what  lay  before  us,  the  mid- 
night ways  we  were  to  tread. 


•CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 
The  Death  of  theCjueen 


we  hurried  in  search  of  her,  on 
all  sides  there  was  wailing:  "Ai — 
ai — ai !  Woe — woe — woe !  Our 
Queen  is  dead!" 

A  spirit  of  dread  and  disaster 
filled  the  place  and  shook  us  mightily.  Crip  said 
never  a  word. 

"I  remember  you  told  me  once  you  had  lost  your 
Queen-Mother — that  was  the  time  I  found  you  in  the 
hive  that  we  robbed.  You  were  going  to  tell  me 
about  it." 

"Yes;  but  now  it  is  too  late — it  is  terrible.  You 
do  not  understand — " 

At  length  we  came  to  where  she  lay  asleep  on  the 
bottom-board  of  the  house  she  had  graced  for  so  short 
a  space.  Around  her  surged  her  children,  weeping 
for  the  queenly  dead. 

1 06 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

"She  had  been  ill  but  a  few  days,"  one  said. 

"She  has  not  been  well  since  the  robbery,"  added 
another. 

"She  was  hurt  in  the  fight,"  put  in  a  third. 

"But  she  did  not  complain,"  answered  another. 

Crip  and  I  now  in  our  turn  came  into  the  presence 
of  the  Queen  lying  prone  on  the  floor,  her  wings  draped 
about  her.  There  were  present  none  of  the  trap- 
pings of  the  dead,  nor  anything  to  show  that  she  was 
not  asleep,  so  peacefully  she  lay  there.  I  came  pres- 
ently face  to  face  with  her,  and  once  I  had  looked  into 
her  eyes  I  saw  that  the  vision  had  vanished,  that  the 
spirit  had  gone. 

I  turned  away  sick  at  heart,  wailing  I  know  not 
what  black  hymn  of  despair.  Crip,  too,  I  had  lost, 
and  I  feared  he  had  gone  on  his  long  journey.  I 
seemed  to  sink  into  a  bottomless  abyss. 

Soon  I  had  partially  recovered  my  composure.  The 
commotion  which  had  swept  the  colony  slowly  sub- 
sided, although  there  still  ran  an  undercurrent  of 
anxiety.  What  should  we  do?  That  part  of  the  in- 
telligence of  the  bee  which  has  to  grapple  with  such 
emergencies  had  been  active  on  the  instant. 

"The  Queen  is  dead — long  live  the  Queen,"  was  the 
low,  reverential  chorus. 

"Three  Queens  have  been  ordained,"  ran  the  cry. 

Without  knowing  why,  I  hurried  to  the  place  which 
had  been  chosen  for  the  wax-cell  palaces — and  there 
was  Crip!  He  appeared  to  be  the  leader,  and  I  was 
overjoyed  to  see  him. 

"You've  found  something  more  to  do,"  I  said  to 
him.  'Tm  so  glad." 

107 


HAPPY 

"You  see,  I'm  one  of  the  oldest— 

"Don't  look  so  dejected,"  Crip  volunteered  to  those 
about  him.  "Hurry — hurry!  Soon  we  shall  have 
another  Queen  to  reign  over  us." 

And  now  magic  began  to  intervene — or  miracle. 
Three  cells  with  three  tiny  larvae,  two  days  old,  were 
selected,  and  over  these  the  great  cell-palaces  were 
erected.  But  more  mysterious  was  the  feeding  of 
these  tiny  things,  which  under  normal  conditions  would 
emerge  workers.  Think,  then,  of  the  transformation 
which  will  produce  a  Queen !  Thanks  to  a  secret  buried 
in  the  heart  of  the  bee,  the  worker,  it  is  supposed,  is 
converted,  through  feeding,  into  a  Queen.  Crip  told 
me  all  this  in  his  cheerful  way;  and  he  assumed  so 
much  importance  in  looking  after  the  destinies  of  the 
three  royal  personages,  that  once  or  twice  I  was  irri- 
tated at  his  conduct. 

"Why  three  Queens?"  I  inquired,  one  day.  "We 
need  only  one." 

"To  make  sure  that  one  will  survive.  The  bee  takes 
no  chance  where  it  can  be  avoided." 

The  embryonic  Queens  grew  rapidly,  and  in  due 
season  the  doors  of  the  palaces  were  sealed,  not  to  be 
broken  until  her  ladyship  herself  should  choose  to 
bite  her  way  to  the  light. 

The  days  were  now  being  counted,  even  the  hours, 
against  the  time  when  She  would  appear!  Once  more 
a  little  life  was  manifest  in  the  hive.  Workers  went 
scouring  the  country  for  forage,  and  every  bee  found 
something  to  do,  so  happy  were  they  in  anticipation 
of  the  coming  event. 

The  Master,  too,  had  shown  much  interest  in  us. 
108 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

On  one  of  the  early  days  of  our  trouble,  in  passing,  he 
had  discovered  our  condition. 

"They  have  lost  their  Queen,"  he  said  to  the  little 
Shadow.  "You  can  tell  that  by  their  movements. 
Everything  is  now  in  confusion.  Let  us  see  whether 
they  have  eggs  or  young  larvae  available  for  the  making 
of  a  Queeru" 

With  that  he  opened  our  hive  and  found  the  queen-cells. 

"Here  are  cells  already,"  he  commented,  a  gleam  of 
satisfaction  on  his  grave  face. 

"Let  me  see!"  cried  the  Shadow,  poking  a  little, 
curious  face  around  a  jorner  of  the  hive. 

The  Master  knew  at  a  glance  the  age  of  the  Queens, 
for  the  cells  had  not  been  sealed;  he  knew  that  on 
such  a  day  one  would  come  forth  amid  the  acclaim  of 
a  colony  which  had  languished  between  hope  and  fear 
—life*  and  death.  So  now,  from  day  to  day,  with  his 
little  Shadow,  he  passed,  pausing  in  front  of  the  hive 
long  enough  to  discover  whether  the  great  event  had 
occurred. 

It  was  on  a  day  golden  with  a  sun  steeped  in  the 
waning  glory  of  an  Indian  summer  that  the  Queen 
emerged  and  took  her  throne.  Crip  and  I  had  gone 
to  the  lake  for  a  load  of  water,  and  we  should  prob- 
ably not  have  missed  the  event  had  we  not,  out  of 
curiosity,  returned  by  the  hollow  tree  which  our 
brothers  of  the  swarm  had  occupied.  We  flew  up  to 
the  very  entrance;  the  workers  were  filing  past  in  a 
great  stream,  humming  a  note  of  content. 

"They  will  survive,"  I  said  to  Crip.  "The  season 
has  been  a  late  one,  and  they  must  have  gathered 
ample  stores." 

109 


HAPPY 

We  were  in  jubilant  mood,  on  account  of  this  dis- 
covery, which  chimed  in  perfectly  with  conditions  at 
home,  for  even  before  we  alighted  the  sound  of  re- 
joicing reached  us. 

"A  Queen  has  been  born!    A  Queen!    A  Queen!" 

We  found  a  throng  mad  with  rejoicings.  Crip  and 
I  edged  our  way  in,  eager  to  pay  our  homage,  thrilling 
at  the  thought  that  a  new  lease  of  life  for  the  colony 
had  been  vouchsafed.  We  reached  the  place  of  the 
palace-cells,  only  to  find  them  in  ruins.  Excited  bees 
were  razing  the  last  buttresses,  while  echoing  from  all 
sides  were:  "A  new  mother  has  come!  A  Queen!" 
Presently  two  beautiful  Queens  were  led  to  execution, 
for  one  had  been  crowned — and  one  only  might  rule 
the  hive. 

Order  was  restored,  and  things  went  normally  until 
the  nuptial  day.  In  the  life  of  the  colony  there  is  no 
equally  vital  event.  Destiny  waits  on  the  mating  of 
the  Queen. 

On  a  wonderfully  fine,  warm  day,  at  the  noon  hour, 
she  made  ready  for  flight.  Already  in  the  air  could 
be  heard  the  roar  of  the  drones,  that  groped  about  in 
search  of  the  queenly  presence.  And  now  from  the 
alighting-board  she  rose  into  the  crystal  blue.  Crip 
and  I,  for  no  reason,  followed,  not  near  enough,  how- 
ever, to  encroach  on  the  sacred  precincts.  Higher  and 
higher  she  climbed,  now  pursued  by  some  scores  of 
drones.  Round  and  round  in  mazy  flight  they  whirled 
until  the  heavens  seemed  dizzy,  and  the  ultimate  mo- 
ment had  arrived,  when  a  yellow  flash  crossed  the  sky 
and  fluttered  in  their  midst — a  bee-bird. 

"  Fly  for  your  life !"  a  drone  cried.     "  Fly— fly !" 
no 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

A  moment  later  it  was  all  over,  and  a  silent  doomed 
procession  dropped  earthward — the  Queen  was  missing 
— the  bee-bird  had  caught  her. 

The  news  spread  instantly.  I  had  been  among  the 
first  to  make  report  of  it. 

"We  shall  all  die  together  now,"  said  Crip,  in  de- 
jection. "It  is  only  a  matter  of  days.  We  have  no 
eggs,  no  larvae,  and  may  not  rear  another  mother. 
Alas— alas!" 


CHAPTER,  El 
Crip  and  the 
Impostor*  m 


N  the  earlier  occasion  of  the  loss 
of  the  Queen  there  had  been  a 
brief  spasm  of  despair;  but  it  had  yielded,  for  the 
possibility  of  rearing  another  rose  uppermost.  Now 
that  possibility  had  vanished.  There  was  absolutely 
no  hope.  Death  stalked  abroad,  and  one  by  one,  the 
eldest  first,  the  bees  would  go  to  their  doom.  There 
were  no  young  bees  to  take  their  places,  nothing  but 
dust  and  darkness. 

Several  days  passed,  when  one  morning  a  great  cry 
rang  through  the  hive  that  eggs  had  been  found  and 
that  queen-cells  had  been  started.  It  was  a  strange  and 
pathetic  mystery,  for  we  knew  that  we  had  no  Queen, 
and  yet  exulted  over  the  finding  of  eggs. 

Still  hoping  beyond  hope,  we  tried  to  create  a 
Queen  from  the  eggs — all  in  vain.  The  eggs  we  now 

112 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

found  deposited  freely — one,  two,  or  half-a-dozen  in 
a  cell — were  the  eggs  of  an  impostor,  a  would-be  Queen, 
called  a  fertile  worker. 

Strangely  enough,  too,  we  began  to  work  in  a  half- 
hearted way,  gathering  honey,  feeding  the  brood  of 
the  impostor,  and  yet  we  knew  or  seemed  to  know  that 
there  would  emerge  but  worthless  drones.  Hope  still 
lingered  in  our  hearts,  but  daily  it  grew  more  faint 
until  despair  overcame  us. 

One  morning  Crip  and  I  were  brooding  over  our 
affairs  when  we  saw  the  Master  and  his  Shadow  ap- 
proaching. They  stopped  near  us. 

"Something  has  happened,"  said  the  Master; 
"something  is  wrong.  We  do  not  need  the  smoker. 
Here,  son,  lend  me  a  hand!" 

"A  fertile  worker — an  impostor!"  he  exclaimed,  on 
lifting  up  a  frame  from  the  brood-chamber.  "See  those 
eggs  dropped  haphazard!  A  Queen  never  does  that." 

"Why,  there  are  six  in  one  cell!"  cried  the  Shadow. 

"Run,  son,  and  bring  me  that  Italian  Queen  in  the 
new  cage." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  cry  of  a  Queen  rang  through 
the  hive.  Crip  and  I  flew  toward  it,  and  presently 
paused  beside  the  trap  which  contained  a  most  beau- 
tiful Queen.  But  she  was  not  our  Queen,  and  now  a 
riot  was  started.  "Kill  her — kill  her!"  broke  on  all 
sides.  While  Crip  and  I  took  no  part,  we  entered  no 
protest — we  stood  almost  alone. 

Over  the  cage,  biting  and  clawing,  a  mob  of  bees, 
incited  partly  by  the  impostor,  endeavored  to  reach 
the  royal  personage.  They  meant  to  kill  her;  first, 
because  she  was  not  of  our  tribe ;  secondly,  because  the 

113 


HAPPY 

impostor  had  come  to  own  an  ascendency  over  the 
colony.  It  was  a  strange  fate,  as  Crip  explained, 
that  we  should  cling  to  an  impostor  and  die  rather  than 
bring  an  alien  to  reign  over  us.  But  Crip  and  I  were 
thinking,  and  so  were  many  of  our  little  brothers. 
Crip,  on  occasion,  now  gave  her  food  through  the  wire 
screen;  while  I  found  it  convenient  to  hang  about  the 
place.  In  the  mean  time  the  impostor  spread  her  vile 
brood  over  the  hive,  and  kept  up  her  conspiracy  against 
the  Queen  the  Master  had  given  us. 

Several  days  passed,  and  the  Master,  returning, 
found  what  he  thought  a  reconciliation.  He  opened 
the  cage  and  out  walked  the  most  beautiful  Queen  I 
had  ever  seen,  except  my  own  Queen-Mother.  In- 
stantly, however,  a  troop  of  hostile  bees,  evidently  led 
by  the  impostor,  fell  upon  her,  and  in  a  moment  she 
was  in  the  center  of  a  "ball"  and  being  slowly  crushed 
to  death. 

The  Master  was  watching,  however,  and  quickly 
rescued  her  and  restored  her  to  the  cage. 

"They  are  not  ready  to  receive  her,  son,"  he  said. 
"In  fact,  unless  we  can  destroy  the  fertile  worker, 
that  horrid  impostor,  we  may  not  succeed." 

"I've  been  thinking,"  said  Crip,  to  me  that  night 
as  we  stood  by  the  cage  and  listened  to  the  regal  call 
of  the  Queen,  "that  I  shall  fight  the  first  bee  that 
comes  near  her." 

"And  so  shall  I." 

Crip  had  just  given  her  some  honey,  and  was  stand- 
ing near  her  on  the  screen  when  an  ugly  bee,  unusually 
large,  came  up  and  caught  hold  of  one  of  her  legs  which 
had  protruded  through  the  meshes  of  the  cage.  He 

114 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

laid  hold  of  it  and  pulled  it  with  all  his  might,  and  the 
Queen  began  to  cry  with  pain,  when  Crip  rushed  to 
the  rescue. 

A  terrific  battle  ensued.  I  tried  to  help,  and  did 
seize  the  vicious  bee  by  one  wing,  only  to  be  kicked 
off-  But  Crip  had  grappled  him  in  his  vise-like  mandi- 
bles, and  I  saw  it  was  a  battle  to  the  death.  Over  and 
over  they  whirled,  finally  to  fall  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hive — still  fighting.  I  followed  as  fast  as  I  might,  and 
when  I  reached  where  they  lay  they  had  ceased  to 
struggle — both  were  dead. 

A  lance  wound  in  his  heart  had  finished  my  beloved 
friend. 

"Crip — Crip!"  I  cried  aloud;  but  got  no  answer. 
One  little  foot  moved  a  few  times,  then  was  still. 

Almost  simultaneously  an  alarm  sounded.  The  im- 
postor had  disappeared. 

I  shook  with  an  unrestrained  emotion.  "We  are 
saved,"  I  thought. 

"Where  is  our  Queen?  The  Queen  is  gone!"  they 
called. 

A  wild  rush  of  bees  set  the  hive  in  pandemonium. 
Finally  one  began  to  cry:  "Here  she  is — she  is  dead." 

"Dead — dead!"  rose  loud  over  the  place. 

They  were  wailing  over  the  lifeless  body  of  the 
impostor,  while  I  stood  broken-hearted  beside  my 
Crip,  who,  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  life,  had  redeemed  that 
of  the  colony. 


WO  days  later  the  Master  came 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  cage, 
and  the  new  Queen  he  had  brought 
walked  boldly  out  on  the  combs, 
to  be  wildly  acclaimed,  "  Mother!" 
The  hostility  which  had  been  dis- 
played toward  her  had  totally  disappeared,  and  in 
its  place  had  come  affection.  The  death  of  the  im- 
postor had  wrought  a  profound  revolution,  and  every- 
where my  poor  Crip  was  proclaimed  a  hero. 

Within  the  space  of  an  hour  every  egg  and  every 
young  bee  which  the  impostor  had  left  was  dragged 
out  and  cast  to  the  ants;  and  almost  at  once  the  new 
Queen  began  to  deposit  eggs  of  her  kind,  and  the  hymn 
of  rejoicing  that  welled  up  in  that  hive  of  many  calami- 
ties cannot  well  be  imagined.  I  think  that  I  more  than 
any  other  was  moved  to  the  bottom  of  my  being. 

It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  express  the  loneliness 
which  came  over  me  at  thought  of  Crip's  death.  We 
had  been  such  dear  companions,  and  he  had  been  so 
kind  and  wise. 

When  another  day  had  dawned  and  the  sun  had  suf- 
ficiently warmed  the  air,  I  went  into  the  fields  with  the 

116 


THE    LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

rest,  but  I  seemed  to  wander  as  in  a  dream.  All  the 
while  the  desire  possessed  me  to  fly  farther  and  farther 
away.  Had  I,  too,  lived  out  my  period  of  usefulness? 
But  Crip  said  that  I  had  not,  and  I  acted  in  this  faith. 

On  my  next  excursion  into  the  fields  I  felt  a  tremor 
in  the  air  such  as  I  remembered  from  another  time, 
when  the  storm  had  broken.  Black  clouds,  too, 
loomed  on  the  horizon  and  little  snake-like  flames 
crawled  in  and  out  among  them.  This  time  I  was  not 
so  eager  to  secure  a  load,  and  made  off  with  all  pos- 
sible speed.  Scarcely  had  I  reached  home  when  the 
rain  began  to  fall  in  sheets  and  the  thunder  rattled 
frightfully.  In  a  little  while  it  was  over;  the  sky  was 
clear,  but  a  dreadful  wind  from  the  north  blew  like  a 
hurricane  and  it  grew  cold.  By  the  next  day  it  was 
so  cold  that  we  formed  a  cluster  about  the  brood  in  order 
to  keep  it  warm.  We,  too,  were  cold,  and  not  a  bee 
ventured  from  the  hive. 

Three  days  passed  ere  it  was  warm  enough  for  us 
to  look  outside;  and  when  I  saw  the  world  again, 
truly  I  was  shocked.  Everything  was  black  and  bare. 

"The  frost  has  fallen,  not  a  flower  remains  alive," 
mournfully  exclaimed  one  of  the  nurses. 

This  was  surely  the  winter  of  which  I  had  heard  so 
much.  Happily,  the  Master  came  to  our  assistance  by 
closing  the  door  of  our  house,  leaving  but  the  smallest 
hole  for  our  passage.  This  helped  greatly  in  the  matter 
of  our  keeping  warm  when  the  northers  swooped  upon  us. 

The  season  now  alternated  between  moderately 
warm  days  and  biting  weeks  of  cold.  On  all  days  fit 
for  flight,  we  sailed  into  the  air  for  exercise  and  for 
the  care  of  our  bodies. 

117 


HAPPY 

Close,  close  to  one  another  we  packed  during  the 
cold  days  and  nights,  and  in  this  way  generated  enough 
heat  to  keep  the  hive  warm  and  habitable.  Life  was 
monotonous.  We  were  limited  in  our  activities  to 
caring  for  the  brood  and  to  policing  the  hive.  There 
was  little  enough  to  do  on  the  latter  score,  save  on 
warm  days.  Then  we  searched  out  every  nook  and 
corner  to  see  that  the  moth  had  not  entered,  for  she 
was  the  mother  of  the  web-worms,  and  I,  for  one, 
had  the  utmost  respect  for  them.  Sometimes  harm- 
less beetles  were  found,  and,  much  as  we  hated  to  send 
them  into  the  cold,  we  felt  it  must  be  done.  Some- 
times they  went  peacefully,  but  often  enough  we  were 
compelled  to  drag  them  bodily  forth — and  occasionally 
we  were  forced  to  destroy  them. 

And  so  the  days  ran  on.  As  for  me,  I  employed  them 
in  meditation.  What  could  be  more  conducive  to  re- 
flection than  the  long,  dark  hours  of  quiet  that  reign 
in  a  winter-bound  hive?  Slowly,  ever  so  slowly,  I 
neared  the  end  of  my  task. 

And  now  I  have  come  to  the  end.  There  remains 
only  to  tell  what  these  last  days  held  for  me.  Already 
the  winter  has  gone  and  I  am  ready.  Even  as  poor 
Buzz-Buzz,  I  feel  that  my  labors  are  done.  I  am  old 
and  worn  and  need  to  make  way  for  the  young  life 
which  is  already  singing  about  me.  The  Queen- 
Mother,  aware  of  conditions,  has  been  scattering  her 
brood  over  wide  spaces,  and  already  young  bees,  flap- 
ping their  wings  frantically,  are  stumbling  over  the 
combs,  and  hundreds  more  of  them  soon  will  be  wait- 
ing for  the  signal  to  go  into  the  fields.  Eagerly  will 
they  try  their  first  wings  and  eagerly  will  they  gather 


THE   LIFE   OF   A    BEE 

from  the  flowers  the  pollen  and  honey  that  unfailingly 
come  with  the  spring. 

Even  as  I — even  as  a  hundred  thousand  generations 
before  me — will  they  marvel  at  the  mysteries  that  sur- 
round them,  but,  undaunted  and  undismayed,  they 
will  fly  into  the  face  of  the  sun  or  struggle  in  the  teeth 
of  the  hurricane!  It  is  youth  that  knows  no  danger, 
that  brooks  no  defeat,  that  pursues,  that  conquers.  It 
is  youth  that  constructs,  that  hopes,  that  achieves — 
youth  that  charges  the  heavens  with  glory! 

Crip  was  right.  Now  age  has  torn  my  wings  and 
rendered  my  body  nearly  useless.  While  I  am  still 
alive,  I  am  among  the  dying — but,  dying,  I  shall  live 
again. 

February  has  come  and  already  the  grass  is  green 
and  the  yellow  catclaw-buds  are  bursting.  The  great 
tree  that  stands  hard  by  is  a-bloom.  The  alarm  has 
been  sounded,  and  out  into  the  world  the  bees  fly  by 
tens  and  hundreds.  I,  too,  cannot  resist  the  call  and 
rise  into  the  air,  driving  toward  a  place  I  well  remem- 
ber. Sheltered  from  the  north  wind  and  exposed  to 
the  sun,  a  little  slope  lies  dotted  with  daisies.  In  its 
midst  a  catclaw-tree  sways  like  a  golden  ball  in  the 
breeze,  and  about  it  hum  a  score  of  bees.  I,  too, 
gather  my  load  and  wend  my  way  homeward,  but  at 
heart  I  am  weary.  I  had  imagined  that  I  alone  knew 
of  this  particular  spot.  Alas!  there  are  no  secrets. 

Flying  out  again,  I  took  another  course — one  which 
led  me  over  the  Master's  cottage.  There  he  was  in  his 
garden,  pondering  his  roses.  Round  him  I  circled  twice, 
thrice,  until,  perceiving  me,  he  followed  me  with  his 
eyes  until  I  passed  from  his  vision. 

119 


HAPPY 

Then  on  I  went  to  the  place  of  the  sunflowers,  but 
where  once  had  been  beautiful  blossoms  the  green 
grass  waved  in  triumph. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  a  never-ending  night  followed 
this  excursion.  I  rested  little  or  none ;  back  and  forth 
I  raced  from  end  to  end  of  the  hive,  and  from  the  en- 
trance to  my  cell,  which  I  had  not  forgotten.  I  passed 
and  re-passed  the  Queen-Mother  at  her  tasks,  touching 
her  reverently  as  one  might  touch  the  garment  of  a  saint. 

At  length  the  gray  light  broke  along  the  horizon 
and  gleams  of  color  pierced  the  low-lying  clouds.  My 
time  had  come.  I  felt  the  call,  and  there  was  no 
denying  the  command. 

For  a  moment  I  seemed  in  a  maze.  Round  and 
round  I  turned,  like  a  child  lost  in  the  wilderness,  then 
made  straight  for  the  entrance,  where  already  a  few 
of  the  hardier  and  younger  workers  were  assembled, 
waiting  for  the  light.  How  restless  they  seemed ;  how 
they  longed  to  be  off  in  the  world;  how  alluring  the 
unattained;  how  fascinating  the  great  adventure  of  life ! 

As  best  I  might,  I  have  told  my  story,  and  here  it 
must  end.  I  have  striven;  I  have  dreamed;  and  as 
far  as  ever  it  comes  to  God's  creatures,  I  have  been — 
HAPPY.  Farewell ! 


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LIBRARY 

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